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A TROOP 

POEMS. 

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A TROOP OF THE GUARD 
AND OTHER POEMS 



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A TROOP OF 
THE GUARD 

AND OTHER POEMS 

BY 

HERMANN HAGEDORN 



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BOSTON AND NEW YORK 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 

MDCCCCIX 



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COPYRIGHT, I9C9, BY HERMANN HAGEDORN 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

Published October iqoQ 



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TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER 

LOFTY IN THOUGHT, GENEROUS IN SERVICE 

BRAVE IN TROUBLE 

AND EVER PATIENT, LOVING, WISE 

I DEDICATE 

WHATEVER IN THESE VERSES 

IS WORTHY OF HER DEAR 

AND GENTLE SPIRIT 



CONTENTS 

threnody: A. H. 1849-1909 XI 

PART I 

LINCOLN : AN ODE 3 
A TROOP OF THE GUARD : HARVARD CLASS 

POEM 10 

LINES ON MEMORIAL DAY I 5 

THE MIGHTIER POESY 1 9 

PART II 

SONG 27 

THE WORSHIPERS ^8 

REBELS 29 

SONG AT MIDNIGHT JO 

SONG IN DARKNESS 3 I 

A PARTING 32 

FORGIVENESS 39 

LINES TO A DOG 4O 

"where e'er MY WAYS go" 42 

vii 



TO A LARK OF THEBES 43 

THE GLORIOUS BONDAGE 44 

THE AWAKENING 46 

RETURN 47 
SONGS FROM THE ROCKIES 

I. "into the wilderness, come!'* 50 

II. REVEILLE JO 

III. " DID YOU SEE ME COMING, LOVE? " 5 I 

IV. THE LEAVEN OF TWILIGHT 5 I 

V. day's end 

VI. NIGHT RIDE 



52 

53 



57 



PART III 

MIDNIGHT IN EUROPE, TWILIGHT IN 

NEW YORK 

BATTLE SONG OF THE HOPEFUL 6^ 

FOG 64 

FIGHTERS 65 

SONG OF THE GPvAIL SEEKERS 66 

SUNDAY MORNING ON FIFTH AVENUE 67 

CALM SEA 68 

THE GREATER BIRTH 69 



vm 



TO A BELOVED COMPANION 7 1 

HYMN TO ARTEMIS 73 

" MY TRUE LOVE FROM HER PILLOW ROSE " 74 

AUTUMN TWILIGHT 75 

SONG UNDER THE STARS 76 

WINTER 77 

apprehension 78 

resignation 79 

the gardens of ferrara 80 

ode by the sea 84 

sonnet in candlelight 87 

concerning sonnets 88 

summer's end 89 

song from the gardener*s lodge 9o 

SONG OF THE WICKED FRIAR gi 

LULLABY 93 

PART IV 

FIVE IN THE morning: 97 

A DRAMATIC POEM IN ONE ACT 

The author extends his thanks to the editors of the following maga- 
zines for permission to reprint the subjoined poems : The Atlantic Monthly^ 
** My True Love from her Pillow Rose'* ; The Forum^ " Midnight in 
Europe, Twilight in New York," and '* Song from the Gardener's 
Lodge. ' ' 

ix 



THRENODY 

A. H. 
1 849-1 909 

I 

How gently broods the Sabbath o'er the earth ! 

The fervid west wind, driving o'er the sea 
His champing stallions, hums with quiet mirth, 

Not pain, as yestermorn ; not misery 

As yesternight, whose pallid child, the moon, 
In heaven's gold chamber where the slow days die, 

Sobbed in her silver cradle. Soon, too soon. 

She sank to rest, but lo, the sea, the wind. 
Sing with new voices and the bent reeds croon. 

The frail, white child with outstretched arms is kind. 

The mists that harrowed like far crowded ships 
The sea's marge, flee before her, and the blind 

And stumbling sun breaks from his dark eclipse 
Of storm, and grants, with largess never guessed, 

xi 



Silk for the sea's robe , jewels for her breast, 
Peace to her spirit, music to her lips. 

II 

Oh, glowing day of rapture and soft airs ! 

How often have thy kindred, glad as thou. 
Played at my side and sped my childish cares. 

Lightly ! Alas, thou canst not speed them now — 

The tears that burn unshed within my eyes. 
The heaviness that weighs upon my brow ! 

I gaze on thy large bounty and surmise 

That hearts somewhere may leap at thy glad call; 
But to my sight in strange and spectral guise 

Thou comest — like a shadow leading all 

Thy far dead shadowy brothers in thy train — 
Those dear lost days in which a sparrow's fall 

Was tragedy, a finger-prick was pain. 

And love was as the sky without a cloud, 
A deep, felicitous, unplumbed domain. 

Oh, sweet, far days ! The voices that were loud 
In your brief reign are hushed. That dearest 
voice — 
That knew not to be bitter, nay, nor proud, 

xii 



Nor aught that was not pure and of God's choice — 

Silence hath borne it to his own far hill 
As he bears all earth's music, to rejoice 

Alone over his treasure. Mute and chill 

I watch the pageant of mankind surge by. 
She is not there ! And can I linger still 

Toiling and planning, laughing even as I 

Laughed, as she sat beside me and laughed, 
too? 
How strangely we live on when loved ones die ! 

I wander down the solemn beach, and through 

The long dune grass, and in my heart the pain 
Of dreaming of those other days with you, 

My mother, whom I shall not see again, 

Clutches me, till the looming form of Death, 
Towering above me with his large disdain. 

Makes all that is, a bubble and a breath. 

I listen to the sea, the dismal sound 
Of surge and ebb, that like a crying wraith 

Moans to the sand its pain till pain is drowned 

In louder-tongued despair. Grief like a storm, 
A passion, a wild hope, forever bound 

xiii 



To unavailing longing, her chill form 

Presses against my breast. Oh, pale, pale face. 
So cold and silent where my joy was warm 

With converse and clasped hands and love and 
grace ! 
Oh, spectral shape, that like a mist I feel 
Drawing all things into thy wide embrace ! — 

I know that not for man is joy or weal 

More than a flitting hour, but oh, dark bride — 
Of men and ghosts and dreams and love and 
pride, 

Art thou the only comrade that art real ? 



Ill 

Oh, fragile house of joy, melodious 

And sunny chambers, of what airy stufF 
Are built your walls, that the imperious 

And single word of death should be enough 

To shatter them forever? We are men 
Racing upon the sharp and perilous bluff 

That overhangs despair. Beyond our ken. 
The reason of our striving and its goal 
Lie undiscerned. One wins a crown, and ten 

xiv 



Into the mute and dismal blackness roll 

Where walk the sorrowful, and none may guess 
How soon the shades shall close above his soul. 

Out of the deep a thousand questions press. 

Unanswering, we plod on, unknowing, strive; 

For at our heels the sweeping ages drive, 
And we must toil and toil and acquiesce. 



IV 

Upon the silent shore alone with grief 

I sat and pondered on the lost, dead years. 
How ardent the desires, how pale, how brief, 

Fulfillment ; how of dust and of the spheres 

Compounded is man's love, and lo, how soon 
In the deep, ever-brimming cup of tears 

Melts the bright pearl that is God's greatest 
boon ! 
Love, what art thou that we should cry to thee 
As the waves cry unto the silent moon ? 

Thine end is loneliness and misery. 

The yearning of the sleepless for the day, 
A frail remembrance, at whose feet we lay 

Our poor, dumb gifts of pain and constancy ! 

XV 



What is thy consolation, O my God, 

To us who mourn ? Not cheap forgetfulness, 
That 'neath the living blanket of green sod 

Love's long devotion and her deep distress 

Would bury. Nay, nor other loves, more 
young, 
More joyous, w^ith pure hands and lips, to dress 

The heart's wound till it heal. Such hands have 
clung 
Compassionately to mine, such lips have given 
The tender pity of a strong soul, wrung 

With kindred anguish, but man's deep heart riven 

Of death finds not its comfort thus, nor peace. 

Each love has its own tears, nor earth nor heaven 

Can with fresh gifts of glory bid men cease 

Mourning the lost. Sweet friend, not you 
nor I 
Can from the other's bleeding heart release 

The crushing hands of sorrow. Though the cry 
Of our desire be one, and of our love. 
Our faith, our ultimate hope — beside us move 

Still our twain griefs that cannot blend nor die. 

xvi 



VI 

The day turns dusk. Through the light sand I plod 

Homeward, and ponder on my fruitless woe. 
What is thy consolation, O my God ? 

I watch the creamy ripples surge, and flow 

Back to the heart of waters. This dark sea. 
This is eternal. Ages come and go 

O'er its proud surface, sadly, laughingly, 

Bringing their storms, their wailings, their calm 
sleep. 
But never death, nor silence ! What if we 

Should on a wide and spiritual deep 

Be the pale waves that from the azure bourn 
An instant greet the earth's light, laugh and weep 

Beneath the sun, and happily return 

To the embracing Unity ? Ah, then 
'T is not for us to sit apart and mourn 

For those who from the shallow sight of men 

Have sunk back to that sea ! For we are one — 
The living and the dead — I, denizen 

An instant of this earth, you who have gone. 

My mother, still beside me, though unseen ! 
Then let the cries of my despair be done ! 

xvii 



I cannot lose that which hath ever been 

And ever shall be ! You are here, my true. 
Clear-sighted friend ! No space can intervene 

With mortal barriers now 'twixt me and you ! 

I need not speak, for ever must you hear 
Th' unspoken love ; nor cry, nor yet renew 

The pleading of my anguish, for your ear 

Is tuned to music subtler than man's thought. 
Lo, as I stand beneath the stars, and peer 

Over the pale-ridged sea, the dusk hath brought 
Your presence to my spirit's new-born sight. 
You stand beside me, silent, where I sought 

Only my grief. I feel the old delight 

Of comradeship, I see your deep, blue eyes — - 
With joyful tears after long parting, bright, 

As oft they were — so pure, so steadfast, wise, 

I feel my soul as from a cloudy vale 
Light and exultant as a skylark rise ! 

I do not fear what Death, the strong, the pale, 
Surging upon life's beaches, may destroy. 
With open hands I yield earth's temporal joy; 

The mightier rapture Death cannot assail. 



xvui 



PART I 



LINCOLN: AN ODE 

Let silence sink upon the hills and vales ! 

Over the towns where smoke and clangor tell 
Their glad and sorrowfully noble tales 

Of women bent with care, of men who labor 
well, 
Let silence sink and peace and rest from toil. 

Oh, vast machines, be still ! Oh, hurrying men, 
Eddying like chafF upon the frothy moil 

Of seething waters, rest ! In tower and den. 
High in the heavens, deep in the cavernous ground, 
There where men's hearts like pulsing engines bound, 
Let silence lull with loving hands the sound. 

Silence — ah, through the silence, clear and strong, 
Surging like wind-driven breakers, sweeps a song ! 

Out of the North, loud from storm-beaten strings, 
Out of the East, with strife-born ardor loud. 
Out of the West, youthful and glad and proud. 

The cry of honor, honor, honor ! rings. 

(Read at the Lincoln Centenary Celebration of the Military Order of 
the Loyal Legion of the United States, Commandery of Pennsylvania, 
at *he Academy of Music in Philadelphia, February 12, 1909.) 

3 



And clear with trembling mouth, 
Sipping in dreams the bitter cup, the South 
Magnanimous unfeigned tribute brings. 

Oh, prosperous millions, hush your grateful cries ! 
The sanctity of things not of this earth 
Broods on this place — 
Wide things and essences that have their birth 
In the unwalled, unmeasured homes of space; 
Spirits of men that went and left no trace, 

Only their labor to attest their worth 
In the world's tear-dim, unforgetting eyes : 
Spirits of heroes ! Hark ! 
Through the shadow-mists, the dark. 
Hear the tramp, tramp, tramp of marchers, living, 
who were cold and stark ! 
Hear the bugle, hear the fife ! 
How they scorn the grave ! 
Oh, on earth is love and life 
For the noble, for the brave. 
And it 's tread, tread, tread ! 
From the camp-fires of the dead. 
Oh, they *re marching, they are marching with their 
Captain at their head ! 
Greet them who have gone before ! 
Spread with rose and bay the floor — 
They have come, oh, they have come, back once 
more ! 



Give for the soldier the cheer, 
For the messmate the welcoming call, 
But for him, the noblest of all. 
Silence and reverence here. 
Oh, patient eyes, oh, bleeding, mangled heart ! 
Oh, hero, whose wide soul, defying chains, 
Swept at each army's head. 
Swept to the charge and bled. 
Gathering in one too sorrow-laden heart 
All woes, all pains : 

The anguish of the trusted hope that wanes. 
The soldier's wound, the lonely mourner's smart. 
He knew the noisy horror of the fight. 
From dawn to dusk and through the hideous night 
He heard the hiss of bullets, the shrill scream 

Of the wide-arching shell. 
Scattering at Gettysburg or by Potomac's stream, 
Like summer showers, the pattering rain of death ; 
With every breath. 

He tasted battle and in every dream. 

Trailing like mists from gaping walls of hell, 
He heard the thud of heroes as they fell. 
Oh, man of many sorrows, 't was your blood 
That flowed at Chickamauga, at Bull Run, 
Vicksburg, Antietam and the gory wood 
And Wilderness of ravenous Deaths that stood 
Round Richmond like a ghostly garrison : 
Your blood for those who won, 

5 



For those who lost, your tears ! 
For you the strife, the fears, 
For us, the sun ! 
For you the lashing winds and the beating rain in 

your eyes. 
For us the ascending stars and the wide, unbounded 
skies. 

Oh, man of storms ! Patient and kingly soul ! 

Oh, wise physician of a wasted land ! 

A nation felt upon its heart your hand. 
And lo, your hand hath made the shattered whole. 
With iron clasp your hand hath held the wheel 
Of the lurching ship, on tempest waves, no keel 

Hath ever sailed. 

A grim smile held your lips while strong men 
quailed. 

You strove alone with chaos and prevailed ; 
You felt the grinding shock and did not reel. 
And, ah, your hand that cut the battle's path 
Wide with the devastating plague of wrath, 

Your bleeding hand, gentle with pity yet. 

Did not forget 
To bless, to succor, and to heal. 

Great brother to the lofty and the low, 

Our tears, our tears give tribute ! A dark throng. 
With fetters of hereditary wrong 

6 



Chained, serf-like, in the choking dust of woe. 
Lifts up its arms to you, lifts up its cries ! 
Oh, you, who knew all anguish, in whose eyes, 

Pity, with tear-stained face. 
Kept her long vigil o*er the severed lands 

For friend and foe, for race and race ; 
You, to whom all were brothers, by the strands 

Of spirit, of divinity. 

Bound not to color, church, or sod. 
Only to man, only to God ; 
You, to whom all beneath the sun 

Moved to one hope, one destiny — 

Lover of liberty, oh, make us free ! 
Lover of union. Master, make us one ! 

Master of men and of your own great heart. 

We stand to reverence, we cannot praise. 

About our upward-straining orbs, the haze 
Of earthly things, the strife, the mart, 

Rises and dims the far-flung gaze. 

We cannot praise ! 
We are too much of earth, our teeming minds, 
Made master of the beaten seas and of the con- 
quered winds. 

Master of mists and the subservient air, 
Too sure, too earthly wise. 
Have mocked the soul within that asks a nobler prize, 

And hushed her prayer. 

7 



We know the earth, we know the starry skies, 
And many gods and strange philosophies ; 
But you, because you opened like a gate 
Your soul to God, and knew not pride nor hate, 
Only the Voice of voices whispering low — 
You, oh my Master, you we cannot know. 

Oh, splendid crystal. In whose depths the light 

Of God refracted healed the hearts of men. 
Teach us your power ! 
For all your labor is a withered flower 

Thirsting for sunbeams in a murky den. 
Unless a voice shatters as once the night, 

Crying, Emancipation ! yet again. 
For we are slaves to petty, temporal things. 

Whipped with the cords of prejudice, and bound 
Each to his race, his creeds, his kings, 

Each to his plot of sterile ground, 

His narrow-margined daily round. 
Man is at war with man and race with race. 
We gaze into the brother's face 

And never see the crouching, hungry pain. 

Only the clanking of the slavish chain 
We hear, that holds us to our place. 

Oh, to be free, oh, to be one ! 

Shoulder to shoulder to strive and to dare ! 

What matter the race if the labor be done, 



What matter the color if God be there ? 
Forward together, onward to the goal ! 
Oh, mighty Chief, who in your own great soul. 
Hung with the fetters of a lowly birth. 
The kinship of the visionless, the obstinate touch 
of earth, 
Broke from the tethering slavery, and stood 
Unbound, translucent, glorious before God ! — 
Be with us. Master ! These unseeing eyes 
Waken to light, our erring, groping hands 

Unfetter for a world's great needs ! 
Till, like Creation's dawning, golden through the 
lands 
Leaping, and up th' unlit, unconquered skies 

Surging with myriad steeds, 
There shall arise 

Out of the maze of clashing destinies. 
Out of the servitude of race and blood. 
One flag, one law, one hope, one brotherhood. 



A TROOP OF THE GUARD 

HARVARD CLASS POEM 

There 's trampling of hoofs in the busy street. 
There 's clanking of sabres on floor and stair, 
There's sound of restless, hurrying feet. 
Of voices that whisper, of lips that entreat. 

Will they live, will they die, will they strive, will 
they dare ? 
The houses are garlanded, flags flutter gay. 
For a Troop of the Guard rides forth to-day. 

Oh, the troopers will ride and their hearts will 
leap. 
When it *s shoulder to shoulder and friend to 
friend — 
But it 's some to the pinnacle, some to the deep. 
And some in the glow of their strength to sleep. 

And for all it *s a fight to the tale's far end. 
And it 's each to his goal, nor turn nor sway. 
When the Troop of the Guard rides forth to-day. 



(Read before the Graduating Class of Harvard College, June 21, 
1907.) 



10 



The dawn is upon us, the pale light speeds 

To the zenith with glamour and golden dart. 
On, up! Boot and saddle! Give spurs to your 

steeds ! 
There 's a city beleaguered that cries for men's deeds. 
With the pain of the world in its cavernous heart. 
Ours be the triumph ! Humanity calls ! 

Life 's not a dream in the clover ! 
On to the walls, on to the walls, 
On to the walls, and over ! 

The wine is spent, the tale is spun, 
The revelry of youth is done. 
The horses prance, the bridles clink, 
While maidens fair in bright array 
With us the last sweet goblet drink, 
Then bid us " Mount and ride away ! " 
Into the dawn, we ride, we ride. 
Fellow and fellow, side by side ; 
Galloping over the field and hill. 
Over the marshland, stalwart still ; 
Into the forest's shadowy hush. 
Where spectres walk in sunless day. 
And in dark pools and branch and bush 
The treacherous will-o'-the-wisp lights play. 
Out of the wood 'neath the risen sun, 
W-eary we gallop, one and one, 
To a richer hope and a stronger foe 
1 1 



And a hotter fight in the fields below — 
Each man his own slave, each his lord, 
For the golden spurs and the victor's sword ! 

Friends of the great, the high, the perilous years. 

Upon the brink of mighty things we stand — 

Of golden harvests and of silver tears, 

And griefs and pleasures that like grains of sand 

Gleam in the hour-glass, yield their place, and die. 

Like a dark sea our lives before us lie. 

And we, like divers o'er a pearl-strewn deep, 

Stand yet an instant in the warm, young sun, 

Plunge, and are gone. 

And over pearl and diver the restless breakers sweep. 

On to the quest ! To-day 

In joyful revelry we still may play 

With the last golden phantoms of dead years ; 

Hearing above the stir 

The old protecting music in our ears 

Of fluttering pinions and the voice of her, 

The Mighty Mother, watching o'er her sons. 

To-day we still may crouch beneath her wings. 

Dreaming of unimagined things ; 

To-morrow we are part 

Of the world's depthless, palpitating heart, 

One with the living, striving millions 

Whose lives beat out the ceaseless, rhythmic song 

Of joy and pain and peace and love and wrong. 

12 



We may not dwell on solitary heights. 

There is a force that draws men breast to breast 

In the hot swirl of never-ending fights, 

When man — enriched, despoiled, oppressed, 

By the great titans of the earth who hold 

The nations in their hands as boys a swallow's nest — 

Leaps from the sodden mass through loves and feuds 

And tumult of hot strife and tempest blast, 

Until he stands, free of the depths at last, 

A titan in his turn, to mould 

The pliable clay of the world's multitudes. 

An anxious generation sends us forth 

On the far conquest of the thrones of might. 

From West and East, from South and North, 

Earth's children, weary-eyed with too much light, 

Cry from their dream-forsaken vales of pain, 

" Give us our gods, give us our gods again ! '* 

A lofty and relentless century, 

Gazing with Argus eyes, 

Has pierced the very inmost halls of faith, 

And left no shelter whither man may flee 

From the cold storms of night and lovelessness and 

death. 
Old gods have fallen and the new must rise ! 
Out of the dust of doubt and broken creeds. 
The sons of those who cast men's idols low 
Must build up for a hungry people's needs 

'3 



New gods, new hopes, new strength to toil and 

grow; 
Knowing that nought that ever lived can die, 
No act, no dream but spreads its sails, sublime. 
Sweeping across the visible seas of Time, 
Into the treasure-haven of eternity. 

The portals are open, the white road leads 

Through thicket and garden, o'er stone and sod. 
On, up ! Boot and saddle ! Give spurs to your 

steeds ! 
There 's a city beleaguered that cries for men's deeds. 
For the faith that is strength and the love that is 
God! 
On through the dawning ! Humanity calls ! 

Life 's not a dream in the clover ! 
On to the walls, on to the walls, 
On to the walls, and over ! 



14 



LINES ON MEMORIAL DAY 



Lift up your hearts, ye people, and be proud ! 

Oh, mourn no more the fallen in the fray; 

Peace and a nation's glory wrap their clay. 
And they sleep well who sleep in such a shroud. 

II 

Lift up your hearts, ye people, and be proud ! 

Not of the dead alone, 

Above whose shattered frames the stone 

Records the glory and the tears. 

The triumph of tempestuous years — 

Not of the dead alone, nation of men, be proud ! 

Out of the dust of those who fought and fell. 

Out of the dreams of those who slumber well, 

Thy mightier armies, firm, uncowed, 

Up to thy fields of battle crowd. 

Ill 

Honor the dead ! 

Honor with garlands, honor with wreaths, 

Honor with roses, white and red! 

IS 



Honor, all else above, 

Honor with love. 

In whose depths still a nation's passion seethes. 

Honor with songs the glories that have been ! 

But more, thrice more. 

Honor with reverence the dreams. 

The winged hopes that madly soar. 

The failing glimpses, transitory gleams. 

That from the watch-tower of a prophet's thought 

Tell of the greater battles still unfought, 

The greater glories still unseen. 

IV 

Not in the tale of stirring fights. 
Not in the triumph song. 
That tell of mighty days and nights 
When right has conquered wrong ; 
Not in men's deeds doth glory rest ! 
Only in vision, pure and high. 
Only in faith, in spotless zest 
And dauntless hope doth glory lie. 



Honor the past, but honor more the dreams, 
Misty to-day, that are to-morrow's deeds — 
Those momentary dim imaginings, 
In whose swift fire the light of aeons gleams 
On dark, undreamt, gigantic things — 

i6 



Telling strange tales of peoples and of kings, 

Of growing labors, growing needs; 

Of bloodless battles, frantic years 

And Niobean tears ; 

Strange, sombre songs whose throbbing undertones 

Are toiling women's cries, and strong men's groans. 

They tell of new rebellions that shall come 

When from the East, the West, the South, the North, 

From Oregon, from Maine, 

From Texas and the blazing plain, 

Men shall go forth 

Without the cheer of flag and drum 

To fall as erst their fathers fell ; 

And o'er the graves no stone shall tell 

The mighty cause ; no wreath 

Sweeten the slumbers of the dead beneath. 

VI 

Honor the living, honor the brave, 
Honor the strong who daily fight 
'Gainst hunger and a pauper's grave, 
In crowded cities, on the perilous seas, 
In reeking, clanging factories. 
In mine-shafts, where 
From murky dawn to dusking night 
Herculean aliens, Goth and Hun, 
Toil in the prisoned air 
And never see the sun. 

17 



VII 

Honor the great, self-risen, to rule the earth; 
Honor the petty, who can be but tools ; 
Honor the drudges, bound to office stools ; 
Honor the mothers, pining at a hearth ; 
Honor the fallen, dauntless in their woes, 
The mighty host who will not quail nor cry ; 
Let the dead sleep — and give your tears for those 
Who, living, struggle and attain or die. 



ig 



THE MIGHTIER POESY 

The din of crashing worlds is in the air. 
Stars burst on stars, the hungry earth gapes wide, 
Men die, things die, the monarch in his pride. 
The slave at toil, the eager priest at prayer. 
The poet crying challenge to the wind. 
Challenge to chaos from undaunted lips — 
They die, creeds die, dogmas and all that stood 
Rock-strong through time, before a greater Flood, 
A shock, a silence, and a dark eclipse. 
Sink, and alone upon an unmarked strand 
With burning eyes that dare not look behind, 
The noble few survivors stand 
To win with torch and spear an unknown mightier 
land. 

One era dies, with fearful pangs the next. 
Groping from chaos, feeble, doubting, young. 
Lisping strange accents with untutored tongue 
That falters still with wonder, half-perplext — 
The new age rises from the hut, the den. 
Rayed with new splendor, to the thrones of men. 



(Read before the SignetSociety of Harvard College, January 21, 1909.) 

19 



And with the age new gods, and with the gods 
New creeds that soar on brave and untried wings, 
New dreams that grapple with titanic things, 
Circling with glory earth's still slumbering clods ; 

New tones, new voices ! Hear them ! They are loud 
With monstrous sounds from wide, unpeopled tracts, 
Loud with the roll of hundred cataracts 
Bound in men's service, bound but yet uncowed ! — 

Loudest in cities ! — in the din and roar 
Of factory and traffic, in the chant 
Of clashing steel on steel reverberant. 
The shriek of whistles, rush of cars that pour 

Their hurrying multitudes In turbulent streets — 
Where, loud and clear, new tales of strife and gold. 
New Iliads, new Odysseys unfold. 
With voyages strange, strange triumphs, strange 
defeats. 

New songs, new songs ! I hear the void caves fill 
With rolling chords and in tumultuous towns 
I see the Muse that died with kings and crowns 
Live in the blast-fires of an iron-mill ! 

I hear her in the air, I see her form 
Riding the passionate whirlwind of great deeds, 

20 



Clangor about her and the rush of steeds 
Sweeping mad riders on through night and storm, 

Upward, upward ! I see her in still places, 
Where death and terror reign and life and love, 
Where joy and anguish mark the upturned faces, 
There, there, I see her move. 

I see her in the citadels of trade 

Where armies strive with armies ; hot and long 

The fight endures, while arms and hands grow faint. 

Hearts that were strong 

Falter before the fire, heads cringe beneath the blade. 

And heroes without fear or taint 

Lead on their soldiery from field to field 

To win or lose, but never yield. 

Among those fighters — struggling as of old 

Trojan and Greek fought on the sandy plain. 

Struggling with heart and brain, 

Arms and their shield, a word ; 

Men of a sterner mould 

Than ancient hosts who fought with javelin and 
sword — 

There, by that sea whose curling waves are gold. 

Do you not hear the Muse that bent to Homer's 

will 
Crying that still strife lives, that men are heroes 

still ? 



21 



I see her in the streets, where through long days 
Besieging hosts clamor at brazen gates. 
In terror-stricken rout 
Nerve-racked as in a maze, 
With timid heart and angry shout 
Encamped they lie about the massive walls ; 
And through the days within the marble halls 
The strong-willed moulders of men's little fates 
Fight for their own hearths and their foes' the bat- 
tle with the wraith 
Of panic in the cringing souls of men of little 
faith. 

Ah, mighty Muse, again I hear thy song, 

Again I feel hot in my heart thy measure, loud and 

strong. 
Again I see thee — in the night 
Winged above the place, where from the far 
And steel-bound distances, with shrieking cries. 
The dragons, many-limbed, with flaming eyes, 
As on some conjurer's business, to and fro. 
Through the great road-yard sweeping go. 
Back from the funnel, star on golden star 
Flings to the dusk its glamour; thick and white 
The smoke-clouds roll. 
And in the engine's brain 
Where human hands hold in control 
The splendid onward flight 

22 



Of this strong thing of steel and fire that half is god 

and soul. 
The grimy firemen toil and sweat and strain, 
Hour by hour 

Holding undimmed the monster's power. 
Do you not hear the Muse's fluttering wings 
In the hot piston's throb, the whistle's wails. 
The rumble and the thunderings 
Of freighted cars on gleaming rails ? 
Lo, do you see her not by saving lights that gleam 
From smoky bridges, turrets gray. 
Marking of many ways, the way ? 
The signal lamps I The white and now the red 
And now the white again ! — 
As strange and causeless-seeming as a dream ! 
Yet, oh, the mighty faith that to one human 

head, 
Alert upon the central tower, 
Gives o'er the lives of hundred thousand men ! 

I hear the factories throbbing, I see the furnace 

a-light. 
Flaunting the new time's glory in the face of the 

welcoming night ; 
I see the hand of the master and loud from torrent 

and fen 
I hear the moans of titans made slaves to the will 

of men. 

23 



Down to the dust the withered, up from the dust 

the young ! 
Crying for hearts to uphold them, crying for sabre 
and tongue; 

Soldiers to right old wrongs. 
Singers to sing new songs — 
Songs that are half of the whirlwind and half of the 
great calm's birth ! 

Songs of the brave, the wise, 
Songs of the gold, the lies. 
Songs of the Spirit of Man crushing the Spirit of 
Earth ! 



24 



PART II 



SONG 

Song is so old, 
Love is so new — 
Let me be still 
And kneel to you. 

Let me be still 
And breathe no word, 
Save what my warm blood 
Sings unheard. 

Let my warm blood 
Sing low of you — 
Song is so fair. 
Love is so new ! 



27 



THE WORSHIPERS 

A SHRINE Stood in the forest 

And we two knelt and prayed — 

You to the kindly Master, 
I to the hill and glade. 

Ah, humbly you prayed for the virtue 
God gave as a crown at your birth ; 

You pleaded for grace and the spirit — 
And I for the gifts of earth j 

For the comforting arms of Nature, 
For the flash of a bird on the wing, 

For the cold, white promise of winter 
And the warm fulfillment of spring ; 

For the whole great circle of marvels 
With me as a link in the chain ! 

You prayed to the king of your silence, 
And I to the wind and rain. — 

Your hand touched mine and I held it. 
And the spirit cried low in the clod ; 

We kissed — and forgot our pleadings, 
And Nature and shrine and God. 
28 



REBELS 

You and I and the hills ! 

Do you think we could live for a day, 
With the useless, wearying wrongs and ills 

And the cherished cares away ? 
Rebels of progress and our clay — 
Do you think we could live for a day ? 

You and I and the dawn, 

With the great light breaking through. 
And the woods astir with a wakened fawn, 

And our own hearts wakened, too ; 
With the bud in the hollow, the bird on the spray, 
Do you think we could live for a day ? 

You and I and the dusk. 

With the first stars in the glow — 
And the faith that our ills are but the husk 

With the kernel of life below ; 
With the joy of the hills and the throb of the May, 
Do you think we could live for a day ? 



29 



SONG AT MIDNIGHT 

The moon was so clear to-night, 

Who would have thought that the wind 

Could draw such mists across the light. 
With the storms behind, 
To-night ? 

So strong was your heart, my sweet. 
Who would have thought that I 

Had power to crush it under my feet. 
Nor heed your cry. 
My sweet ? 



30 



SONG IN DARKNESS 

Leave me not now, O love, leave me not now ! 

You that have wandered with me through the night, 

Leave me not now ! 

In the deep valley lies the dawning light. 

And on your brow 

The shadows pale before our one great love 

Leave me not now ! 

Leave me not now, O love — the night is done ; 

The stars that watched so silently above 

Our vale of trouble quiver from our sight. 

Day has begun — 

Ah, sweet, leave me not now ! 

Take not from me the pale, white joy upon your 

brow ! 
Love has not died, I know love has not died ; 
And must we watch, alone and weary-eyed. 
For tumult and the night 
To bring our souls together in our love ? 



31 



A PARTING 

I 

Like watchers by the weary bed 

Of one to whom death brings surcease 

Of lingering anguish and for suffering peace — 

When at the last the eyes, seeming to sleep, are dead -^ 

We two watched pass the dying year. 

The room wherein we sat was dimly lit and drear; 

Only the grate gave out a glow 

From ashes brown, vermilion-veined, 

And half burnt coals that flickered low. 

Before the paling fire we crouched, 

Shoulder to shoulder, as of old 

Beside the sea in happy idle Junes, 

'Neath cloudless canopies of azure, couched 

By sloping sands and overhanging dunes. 

We watched the tumbled breakers that up the steep 

beach strained. 
In the far town the church bells tolled, 
And in the streets we knew that men were full of 

cheer. 
Shouting and glad, crying to far and near : 
" Happy New Year ! " 

32 



She trembled. In my hand I took 

Her hand, that unresisting shook. 

" Happy New Year ! " we said, 

Even though we knew that happiness was dead. 

She turned to me. Her cheeks were stained 

With tears she could not quite repel. 

Though in her fair blue eyes a light. 

Flashing as when the blue-winged pigeon turns 

Wheeling in flight. 

Told she had fought them well. 

She spoke. " No more the glory burns. 

The dream has waned. 

Come, let us part ere all the glamour dies." 

Hervoice was lowandstrong ; I could not see her eyes. 

For shadowed were my own. Like thief. 

Or murderer condemned to lifelong prisonment 

I gazed upon my handiwork, her grief. 

And to her verdict nodded dumb consent. 

" The dream has waned, yet it was fair," she said. 

" There have been tears, but there was laughter once. 

And care-free joy 

As none on earth can find but only girl and boy, 

Knowing not loss nor pain nor dread 

On their oasis in the windy waste 

Of the encircling fear-bent millions. 

Now we must part. Good friend, do not rebel. 

The splendor of the vision is effaced, 

The halo of our fearlessness is gone. 

33 



Let us that knew the sun 

Not be content in twilight dim to dwell. 

We cannot blame each other nor our God. 

The mocking, perilous world wherein secure we 

trod 
Has at the first sign of our fainting hearts, 
Our faltering feet, our wavering eyes, 
Choked in its coils our paradise. 
We should have trusted more in God and in each 

other. 
Now all our weak attempts, our anxious arts 
Are impotent before the doubts that chill and quench 

and smother." 

She paused, and rising, stood 

A while against the mantel, gazing deep 

Into the ashes' crevices that glowed. 

Upon her face I saw the womanhood 

New-risen, stand — 

A dismal conqueror of a wasted land, 

Gazing from lofty summits o'er the sweep 

Of hard-won kingdoms, counting high the cost 

By which a host to victory rode. 

Since all but pride was lost. 

Her lips were pale, yet even now they smiled 

As wearily she turned to me her face. 

" Not by indifference our love shall be defiled, 

Nor shall the heart's new tide erase 

34 



Before our eyes love's symbols on the sands. 

To-morrow you must go." 

And still she smiled, as though 

To tell me that a day's quick smart 

Would heal her heart. 

I took in mine her hands. 

A moment all the tumult of the days 

When first we loved by the white stormy sea 

Flamed up in me, 

A mighty blaze. 

That leaping from my lips encircled us 

With fire that burned the world and burned the 

doubt, the pain. 
And gave us all our love and all our faith again. 
And for a flash I held her thus. 
I cried : " Now are you mine at last ! 
The anger and the doubt are past. 
The long uncertainty is done 
And dead the sorrows, every one. 
Together let us go our way — 
With this new year shall life begin — 
Together let us face the fray. 
Together battle, strive and win. 
Give me your lips, my sweet, my sweet ! 
Over the hills the clouds are fled — " 
" True love is long, but passion fleet, 
Nay, you must go," she faintly said. 
Swift from my arms she fled away. 

35 



« To-morrow you must go — nay, it is late — to-day. 
Go out to labor and to fight, 
Both have we lessons hard to learn. 
In the far years, return ! 

Blame not yourself nor me — the clock strikes one — 
good-night." 

The year's first morning all in splendor lay ; 

Cloudless the sky, frosty and clear the air 

As though a god had swept the soiled world bare 

Of last year's imperfections and decay. 

Soft and untrammeled lay the snow. 

Now must I go. 

Into the clear white day we went. 

The sleigh bells tinkled in the street ; 

Under our feet 

The smooth snow crunched ; and overhead 

The sparkling branches, sighing, bent. 

Of idle things we spoke — 

How fair the elm, how straight the oak, 

How blue the sky above the snow. 

Yet ever, ever in each word 

In every tinkling bell I heard 

The chill refrain, " Now you must go." 

Thus to the open road we came. 

Behind, the village lay ; before. 

The great world without end or aim. 

Aged and dreamless, stark and hoar. 

36 



And then we parted ; in the friendly press 
Of hand in hand, the smile, the parting wave 
Across the widening breach, what passer could 

have told 
That here lay anguish and distress ; 
And in the smile's half-willed caress 
Who would have dreamt the pain it gave ? 
I went, and drew my cloak close round me for the 

cold. 

II 

And now lies silence on the world 

With all its joys in shadow furled. 

The ringing song of life is hushed. 

Out of the tumult of the street, 

The cries of triumph, of defeat, 

Out of the moan of spirits crushed. 

Only the noisy wings of wrong 

Flapping about men's hearts I hear, 

Only the discord, shrill and clear. 

Never, O God, the song. 

Never the hope-filled heart leaps high. 

The dreams untrammeled seek their goal — 

Black, stricken shapes the visions lie 

In my besieged soul. 

Almighty God, let me not chide ! 

Not to my heart has glory been denied, 

37 



Not to my breast the breast nor to my lips the kiss. 

These arms have held a universe enchained, 

These wayward feet. 

Now faltering above the dark abyss. 

Have trod in splendor, young and sweet. 

What though the dream, the golden dream, hath 

waned ? 
Life gave its best. Nay, God, I will not chide. 
The world is open. Let me go 
Into the world and run my race. 
And though the heavy feet be slow. 
Lord, let me gain my place. 

What though, within, the early hopes lie broken ? 
Into the midst of life with eager heart. 
Through joy a prophet, I depart. 
For unto me the Lord hath spoken. 



38 



FORGIVENESS 

Forgive me that I could not understand 
The peerless wonder and the magnitude 
Of thy great soul. Forgive me that imbued 
With all youth's confidence, I let the hand, 

That held to mine as to a promised land, 

Droop and grow chill. I loved thee, yet I viewed 
With eager heart the phantoms that elude — 
Fame, life — forgive, I could not understand. 

Thou wilt forgive the anguish and the tears. 
And worse than tears, the arid tearlessness. 
When Time turns round each grain of the shift- 
ing sand ; 

Thou wilt forgive the silent, empty years — 

Yet one thought from the waste will chafe no 

less ; 
" In my dark hour — he did not understand." 



59 



LINES TO A DOG 

True of heart and black of hair, 
Faithful were you, my Dagobert ! 
A friend to me when first I came 
Unknown of face, unknown of name, 
And entered in your lady's heart 
With loving lips and poisoned dart. 

I loved you for the small, white hands 
That played amid your ebon strands. 
I loved you for the face that bent 
Unto your face in soft content 
With murmured, " Ah, such love is rare 
As that I hold, my Dagobert ! " 
You saw us erst beside the sea 
When first her fair eyes looked on me. 
The twilight dimmed, the calm sea's moan 
Sang low in ceaseless monotone. 
While you strove with the languid tide 
And I with love and she with pride. 

Old Dagobert, the seas will climb 
Up those gray shores till end of time, 
40 



But you are dead, and she and I 
Are parted as the land and sky. 
Blind children ! who, when passion's thirst 
Is dry, and passion's bubbles burst, 
Must beat at love's time-braided chain 
And rend each silken bond in twain ! 
Oh, rare is friendship, yet how soon 
We cast it from us, when the boon 
Is less than all that dreams desire — 
Soft warmth, but not a passion's fire. 

Old Dagobert, your house is chill, 

While mine hath warmth and friendship still, 

But you at least have in your ears 

The voice that soothed you through the years, 

Her touch upon your poor, black head — 

For me the voice, the hands are dead. 

Alan knows not where your house may be — 

In dust or in Eternity f — 

Afan knows not^ and you little care,, 

Tet — God be with you^ Dagobert ! 



41 



"WHERE FER MY WAYS GO" 

Where e'er my ways go, 

Love, there are you — 
In cloud and starry night 

And morning dew. 

On the sea's horizon 

And windy space, 
At the valley's end, always, 

Your face, your face ! 

In calm and tempest 

And morning dew. 
Through death and forever. 

Love, there are you ! 



42 



TO A LARK OF THEBES 

Oh, lark upon the fallow fields, 
What make you here so far from home, 
'Mid temple, tomb, and obelisk — 
What make you here ? 

Dark grandeur lies upon the hills. 
And darker silence 'neath their crest 
Where ancient emperors lie mute — 
What make you here ? 

What care you for the ancient days, 
The south's unchecked, impetuous glow ? 
Yours is the quiet upland wood — 
What make you here? 

We two are aliens far from home. 
Oh, bird, could we but turn our flight 
Back to our own unfamed fields. 
Back to our joy ! 



43 



THE GLORIOUS BONDAGE 

In vain I shake love's bondage free, 
In vain I speed from land to land, 

A thousand tongues cry out to me 

From town and peak and desert sand : 

" Ye two are fettered by a tie 

That shall not rust and cannot die." 

Of tenderest weaving are the threads, 
Bound round our hearts a thousand-fold. 

Of common joys and hopes and dreads 
And apple-boughs and sunset-gold — 

The memories that sob and cry 

Against our hearts and will not die. 

Forever is the sea a bond, 

Its every wave hath laugh and tear. 
That bear me from to-day beyond 

The encircling world to yester-year. 
And still the dune-wind moans and sighs 
With memories, with memories. 

The myriad voices of the spring. 

The summer's warm, exuberant mirth, 

44 



The creeping autumn-frosts that fling 
Their scarlet mantle o'er the earth, 
Wild winter, bleak and riotous — 
Are each a woven part of us. 

Withal, shall still our hearts resist ? 

What is there that we blindly fear ? 
About us darkly wreathes the mist. 

But, ah, beyond, the skies are clear ! 
Yea, in the Maker's infinite scroll 
Our lives are woven, soul in soul. 



45 



THE AWAKENING 

Out of the dark your face returns, 
Out of the night my hands aspire, 

Up to the starry heaven burns 

Once more, once more, the old love*s fire. 

Out of the silence comes your voice 

With the old lost tones I loved so well, 

And the buried songs of my heart rejoice 
At the kindred notes that rise and swell. 

Give me your love again, give me all, 

Give me your heart's each throb and beat ! 

From the seats of the scornful, lo, I fall 
A subject, humbly at your feet. 

I have gone, a vagabond o'er the earth, 

I have sought, I have searched on land and sea 

But, oh, the heart that gave love's birth. 
Is the heart that holds love's best for me. 



46 



RETURN 

I DREAMT last night that I had crossed the seas ; 

And in a valley where the fresh earth sprang 

In the year's youth with pale anemones, 

And all the boughs, 

Drunk with the new-pressed wine of life, stood 

flushed 
In riotous carouse 

Of blossom-time and May, I found your house. 
With eager steps I went. 
Strange was the place and hushed ; 
No bird sang in the boughs, no breeze the whole 

day long ; 
Yet in the very silence was a song. 
" And here she dwells," said I, " and here I find 

content." 
With eager steps I went 

Through all the sweet, intoxicating lure of spring. 
Never, ah never, was clay more kin to soul ! 
About me in the air was murmuring 
Of new-born voices, at my feet the sod 
Cried in its new strength, joyous with new mirth ; 
Between the blue sky and the green, green earth, 

47 



A white veil like a radiant aureole, 

Born of the blossoms, hung, to man the sign 

That even clay can be divine 

And that the earth is God. 

And so I came unto your gate. 

Behind the curtained window, was it you 

I saw an instant, as with beating heart elate 

I sped your garden through ? 

I do not know, for I have felt your glance 

In the still desert when the camel's tread 

Grew languid with the heat, and in my eyes 

Bright, blinding figures leaped in flaming dance 

Like river-flies, 

A dance of living dreams and dreams that long were 

dead. 
Behind that window-pane, 
Darkly and fleet, 
Seen, to be lost again — 
So was it in the desert and the heat. 
Ah, but not now the sinking of the heart! 
I stood within the door. Ah, not a jest 
Of desert heat was this. 
Lithe as of old your form, fair as of old your 

face ! — 
Only the room's width now to part — 
You sped across the narrow space — 
Was this a dream ? 

Once more I held you — breast to breast 

48 



A rapturous instant — and above the gleam 
Of bloom and spring a mightier glory shone 
As our two hearts sang unison 
And our shut lives sprang open in a kiss. 



49 



SONGS FROM THE ROCKIES 
I 

" INTO THE WILDERNESS, COME ! " 

Into the wilderness, come ! 
Here where the wild bees hum. 

The aspen leaves quiver. 

Now darkly, now bright, 

The willow-dim river 

Sings loud with delight. 
Birds are a-singing and voices are dumb 
Into the wilderness, come! 

II 

REVEILLE 

The wild horse prances down the glen, 
The cowbell tinkles, clucks the hen, 
The mother-pig grunts to her ten : 
" Get up, you lazy fools I " 

The sun upon the tent-roof glows 
And still we sluggards doze and doze, 
The rooster in the barnyard crows : 
" Get up, you lazy fools ! ** 

50 



Ill 

" DID YOU SEE ME COMING, LOVE ? " 

Did you see me coming, love, 
Down the hills to you ? 

Bees were all a-humming, love, 
Starry lay the dew. 

In the canyon's hushes 
Motion was there none. 

Only in the bushes 
Mute the spider spun. 

Song was in the branches, 

Gently oozed the sap. 
Peaceful lay the ranches 

In the valley's lap. 

Oh, my heart was drumming, love ! 

If you only knew ! 
Did you see me coming, love, 

Down the hills to you ? 

IV 
THE LEAVEN OF TWILIGHT 

So ends a day's immortal story. 
At eve to God, returning, sent ; 

On every mountain-top is glory 
And every valley breathes content. 

51 



Now break the twinkling hosts of heaven, 
Like daffodils, the purple plain. — 

What if the noon be grim ? The leaven 
Of day's sweet end is cure for pain. 

Fear not ! Beneath the earth's mailed bosom 
A kindly heart throbs, baffling wrong ; 

That stirs the bough to rapturous blossom 
And lulls the tempest into song ! 

What though the failing visions cheat us, 
The stony highway halt our gait — 

I know that nothing can defeat us 
If we but love and serve and wait. 

V 

day's end 

Now the day 
Slips away. 
Through the valley see him go, 

Down the canyon, soft of tread. 
Up the mountain, o'er the snow — 

Now he's gone and dead. 
Whither hath he fled ? 

Who shall know ? 
Stars shine in his stead 

And the new moon low. 

52 



Moon in mask and domino 

Trundles to his western bed. 
Midnight ! Heigh-ho ! 

SnufF the light. 

Love, good-night ! 

VI 

NIGHT RIDE 

Home from the glen through the gathering night, 

Home 'neath a purpling sky, 
Home to our tent in the first star's light, 

We ride, my sweetheart and I. 

The shadows are long, the spruces are black, 
The sage-brush is misty and gray — 

And dreamy and dim are the hills at our back 
In the last pink glow of the day. 

There's a ford to cross where the stream runs 
swift — 

To stirrup and bridle it leaps ! 
Now up the sharp bank with a galloping lift 

And into the canyon's deeps ! 

The wind 's in the branches, the dark shadows glide ! 

Old Night is astir with his tricks ; 
And the aspens stand pale by the stream at your side 

As an army of ghosts by the Styx. 

S3 



Now the moon's pale eye o'er the mountain's peak 

Stares like a startled owl. 
And wild on the wild slopes, gray and bleak, 

Answers the coyote's howl. 

Ride, ride, oh my dearest ! The night foes may 
throng 
And gibber enchantments from crevice and pine — 
But hush that loud heart ! Love is sure, love is 
strong. 
No spectres shall harm. You are mine, you are 
mine ! 



54 



PART III 



MIDNIGHT IN EUROPE, TWILIGHT 
IN NEW YORK 

The Old World sleeps. 

Over the wall of sea, dusky and wild — 

Where the great tempest sweeps 

Untrammeled, as a god that leaps 

Forward to kiss the laughing wave, his love — 

The New World, like a sleepy child 

Whose small diurnal round is run. 

Turns, too, her fair face from the sun. 

The Old World sleeps, and in the dome above 
The midnight constellations gleam 
Over the shadowy shores, over the silent stream. 
The mighty river dumbly flows. 
By friendly wharves, the vessels dark, 
Save one dim spark 
That high upon the masthead glows, 
In spectral solitude repose. 

The red-roofed thorps, 'neath linden-bough and oak, 
Clustered like berries in their leafy cloak 
Dim at the foot of some north-warding hill, 
Sleep in a dreamless slumber and are still. 

57 



Over the breathing fields the wooded knolls 

Kindly as some old nurse keep zealous guard. 

No light nor sound — only at intervals 

A fettered comet, many-starred, 

That on its steely path through the still country rolls 

With distant thunder and the whistle's calls. 

The Old World sleeps. 

Dim storied cities indolent 

With dreams and placid self-content ; 

Where even Time her hasting wings 

Folds, and with generous hand o'er spire and wall, 

O'er crooked street and dingy court and empty 

manor-hall 
Her sweetest gift, her veil of mystery flings ; 
Cities, where jarring progress creeps 
And wise professors still prefer 
Nodding o'er mouldy texts with two or three 
Than in the outer world's unresting stir 
To wring from multitudes an immortality : 
Mute by their turgid streams the dreaming cities lie. 
Scarcely the tired night-watch their vigil keep ; 
No voice, no step, disturbs their round. 
Only a brawler lurching, homeward bound. 
Then silence once again — the moon's pale light — - 

and sleep. 

But in gigantic capitals the night 

Brings not the silence and the well-earned rest. 

58 



Garish above them hangs the light 

Mirrored from thoroughfares and wide cafes 

And dazzling signboards hanging in mid-air 

That undulating blaze. 

An indistinguishable hum 

Of many voices fills the street, 

Where the defiled, 

The idle, painted, overdressed, 

The innocent, the fond beguiled. 

The Jew, the Gentile, on a level meet, 

And prince and pauper's child, 

In Night's delirium. 

In restaurants the tired musicians play 

Through the long night again and yet again 

The numbing strain 

Of some light waltz that has its day. 

The women chatter as they go in pairs. 

Or at the corners singly stand and watch 

The endless press 

Of petty clerks, of millionaires. 

Of pallid youths whose tale is told at twenty, 

Of idle lookers-on at life who gaze but never guess 

That underneath the very wickedness 

Is anguish, dread, and loneliness a-plenty j 

That underneath the habit of desire 

Lives something higher 

Than passing cynic eyes may catch — 

59 



A gleam of God beneath the scars, 
A flickering, aching longing for the stars. 
Yet, once again the whirlpool drags the forms 
Onward and downward to the crags and storms. 

Midnight and dusk — the New World goes to 

rest. 
Midnight is here, but over-seas the day 
Still hangs upon her mother's breast 
An instant while the sunbeams play 
On churches* glimmering vanes. 
And higher yet and higher 
Burst to fire 

Coppern and golden on the window-panes 
Of slender buildings towering o'er the bay. 
Even in the great metropolis, the May 
Has entered now in girlish loveliness. 
In the dark churchyard where the dead 
Sleep undisturbed in the engirding press 
Of titan warfare and the meaner stress 
Of broods that daily battle for their bread — 
The elms rise up out of the desert's core 
And brightly clothe their naked boughs once more. 
Over the graves the young grass springs, 
The robins hop from mound to mound. 
And now the twilight brings 

An end to whir of feet and clanging traffic's sound. 
From every portal streams the eager horde — 

60 



Old men and young, women as strong as they, 

Courageous as the Amazons in fray. 

Counting no man their lord; 

But playing each and each her part : 

Honor to them ! for they are strong of heart. 

Out of the gates, women and men and boys, 
Homeward they go out of the battle's moil — 
Vigorous, free, bred at their birth to toil. 
Toil in their eyes, and in their ears the noise 
Like a sweet music, of the city's life, 
Stirring their youth to strife. 

And now the mighty buildings sleep. 

Like insects through the gorge - like streets, in 

clouds 
To north, to east, to west the thousands sweep. 
The river-boats are black with crowds. 
See, how they dot the slanting bridge and pass 
Into the lighted cabins, how they mass 
On the wide decks, shoulder to shoulder stand 
While the chains rattle and the quick gong sounds. 
Out of the dock's great open jaws, the boat 
Moves to the farther strand. 
A city's population is afloat. 
Passing at twilight from the narrow bounds 
Of its captivity — but to go back 
Upon the morrow to the wheel and rack. 

6i 



Like ghosts that melt before the sun 
The city's toilers, when the day- 
Nods to the night and work is done. 
Into the twilight fade away. 
The peopled towers and the populous streets 
Deserted lie as though an age had passed 
Since man had last 

Marked them with triumphs and defeats. 
Dark silence and the memory of woe 
Hold concourse in that place, and chill and low 
Run whispers of man's hunger and man's greed, 
His sorry crowns, his bitter wounds that bleed. 
And ghosts are there, huge shapes and things that 

move. 
But not in street or by-street, not in the towers 

above 
That one face undisfigured, the face of kindly love. 

The Old World sleeps^ and over-seas 

The New World lays her tools aside. 

Oh,, weary souls,, the dafs large gates stand wide. 

Night murmurs welcome^ night the friendly-eyed,^ 

Night shall appease I 

Children of two worlds — rest at ease. 



62 



BATTLE SONG OF THE HOPEFUL 

Out of the dark where the dumb, the unguerdoned, 
Watch o'er their anguish and nurture their woe — 

We who are hopeful, though never so burdened, 
Forward undaunted, unswerving we go ! 

We trust, oh, we trust ! And the great sun 's above 
us ! 
Not yet shall they have us, the poorhouse, the 
grave. 
For here at our sides there are true hearts that love 
us. 
And the good Lord is kind to the joyous, the 
brave. 

Let the battle be grim and a thousand assail us — 
By the sun that hath led us, we still will defy ! 
Though the fight go against us, our hope shall not 
fail us. 
Though we die in the striving, we '11 laugh as we 
die. 



63 



FOG 

The murky dark which fled in sullen flight 
Before the dim and ineffectual day, 
Loath to retreat yet daring not to stay. 

Hath left her pallid sister, foe to light. 

Fog, pale oblivion, on the world. The blight 
Hangs over land and sea. The joyous spray 
Leaps and is lost, and in its cap of gray 

The earth like some dark wizard slips from sight. 

Now am I all alone with bending reeds. 

Soft sands, the clash of waves in civil strife, 
The yearning tide, the damp and salty air. 
This hour are they mine — and all earth's needs. 
That strain like spent waves up the shores of life. 
Stretch out pale arms and whisper to me there. 



64 



FIGHTERS 

Fearless, to rise or fall, 

Arm pressed to arm we stand 

Fighters are one and all — 
Brother, your hand ! 

Hark, to the rushing storm, 
Battle and windy night ! 

Here 's to a sturdy arm. 
Here 's to a winning fight ! 

Hail ! Be it crown or pall. 
Triumph or wasted land — 

Fighters are one and all — 
Brother, your hand ! 



65 



SONG OF THE GRAIL SEEKERS 

On, on, on, with never a doubt nor a turning, 

JVe ride^ we ride ! 
On, on, on, striving and aching and learning, 

TVe ride^ we ride ! 
With ever the light on our brows, in our hearts the 
unquenchable yearning. 

And the grail afar 

Like a golden star 
Burning and burning and burning ! 

JVe ride ! 



66 



SUNDAY MORNING ON FIFTH 

AVENUE 

I SAW the Sabbath Day procession go 

Down the long avenue, and in the crowd 
I saw wan faces, shoulders weak and bowed, 
Satiate eyes, and cheeks with painted glow. 

Feigning a glory they can never know. 
Robed in a splendor that is half a shroud. 
I saw strong men, weary and pale and proud, 
Crowned all with flaunting vanity and show — 

Clay, clay triumphant ! Ah, the mockery ! 

That strong men should have dreamt their dreams 

for these. 
That heroes should have died to make these free ! 

Not so ! Our dreams clay shall not crucify. 

Nor choke their strength in golden robes of ease ! 
Though clay be mighty, God's flame cannot die ! 



67 



CALM SEA 

How like a glowing woman lies the sea, 

Breathing beneath the stars ! So calm, so still, 
So self-surrendering, without woe or will, 

As one who knows the joys that are to be 

And dreaming basks in her security. 

The moonlight is her girdle, starry-pearled ; 
The silver surf that breaks about the world 

Her gown's hem, rustling softly, ceaselessly. 

Soon from the west will come the wind, her lover. 
Singing afar. Make ready, I am here ! 

And she will laugh and fling her arms above her. 
And her great breast will heave ; and strong and 
clear 

Will sound his voice, half earthly, half divine : 

Love of the world, beloved, you are mine ! 



68 



THE GREATER BIRTH 

I LEFT the crowded streets behind 

And down the straight white road I went, 

To open field and wood and sky 
And weary-limbed content. 

Dumb was the forest, dumb the glade, 
Still as a church the arching boughs, 

Though low winds tossed my tumbled hair 
And played about my brows. 

I slept, I woke. The sun was mine. 
The sky, the birds, the fields my own ! 

And I was neither man nor god — 
Nature was I, alone. 

The springs of earth coursed in my veins. 
From head to heart, from hill to sea ; 

The trees were my stalwart sons, the flowers - 
My daughters that played on the lea. 

The sky was my dear love, bending down ; 
And I sang to her softly, I sang to her loud 

69 



And, ah, my voice was the voice of the wind 
That chases the sea-born cloud. 

I felt the heart-throbs of the world 
Beating in me the greater birth ; 

And I sang, I laughed, I cried in my glee 
That I was part of earth ! 

Yet though the sunshine glistened fair, 
And clear springs sparkled in the sod, 

I trembled as I raised my eyes. 
For I was part of God, 



70 



TO A BELOVED COMPANION 

Sweet sister I have never known, 
Yet soul to soul I know so well, 

Beyond the outward look, the tone. 

That mourning mother-love could tell ! 

Blue were your eyes, your cheeks were white 
As lilies in the morning dew — 

'Tis so I see you in the night 

And whisper in my dreams to you. 

On April's sunny breath you came. 
On chill December's winds you fled ; 

Nine years — yet not for me — the flame 
Burned among men and comforted. 

The arms that clasped me, soft and warm, 
Still felt beneath their warmth the touch 

Of your white, flower-wreathed form, 
Your face, that they had loved so much. 

The mother lips that smiled through tears. 
What did they whisper to us then — 
71 



To you, a star amid the spheres, 
To me, a new-born child of men ? 

I know not, yet I half divine. 

When night and tempest rack the soul, 
'T is you who lay your hand in mine, 

*T is you who hold me to the goal j 

And through the doubts, the chill dismay. 
The sin, the penance, and the rod, 

'T is you who touch my lips and say, 

" Doubt not, doubt not, there is a God ! " 



72 



HYMN TO ARTEMIS 

Bow, my queen, unto your world ! 

See, earth's tired children sleep : 
All their little woes lie furled 

In the shadows, still and deep, 
All their quiet tears are dry — 
Sleeping all, save you and I. 

Come, my queen, and bend your face 
To my face and hear my prayer ! 

I am weary of the race. 

Weary of the dragging care : 

Take me to your silver breast, 

Give me succor, give me rest. 

Give me slumber, give me dreams, 
Give me power to fight again. 

Lest the morrow's war that seems 
Hopeless, be not fought in vain. 

Ay, for triumph, ay, for death — 

Give me strength and give me faith. 



73 



"MY TRUE LOVE FROM HER PIL- 
LOW ROSE" 

My true love from her pillow rose 

And wandered down the summer lane. 

She left her house to the wind's carouse. 
And her chamber wide to the rain. 

She did not stop to don her coat. 

She did not stop to smooth her bed — 

But out she went in glad content 
There where the bright path led. 

She did not feel the beating storm. 

But fled like a sunbeam, white and frail. 

To the sea, to the air, somewhere, somewhere — 
I have not found her trail. 



74 



AUTUMN TWILIGHT 

Summer is dead, Summer Is dead ! 

From heavy branches drops the fruit, 
The yellow fields are harvested 

And wan and destitute. 

No more the wind sings in the stalks, 
No more the poppies seek the sun, 

Back to his barns the reaper walks 
With Summer's labor done. 

Hark ! in the boughs the autumn air 
Rustles the torn and brittle leaves, 

Murmurous, low, like the sleepy prayer 
Of a tired child that grieves. 



75 



SONG UNDER THE STARS 

In the village are pleasure and music, 
Gay voices and twanging guitars — 

But here in the brush there is only the hush 
Of night, and the chant of the stars ; 

The stars that sing low in the heavens 

Like children, returning at night 
Down a dark forest stream, half asleep, half 
a-dream — 

So happy, so weary, so white. 



76 



WINTER 

I GO, I go, 

To the barren plains where the north winds blow. 

Where the branches snap in the teeth of the gale 
And the march of the northern foe. 

To the empty hills and the frozen trail 

And the winds' low wail 

I go. 

For Nature my Mother is old and chill 

And hath sore need of me. 
Marvel of marvels, Church of God — 

Mother, I come to thee. 

I come, I come. 
Though the music of hill and plain be dumb. 

And the wind forget the rose it bore 
In its wailings burdensome. 

Though the rose be dust on the temple floor. 

Through the shrouded door 

I come. 

For Nature my Mother is old and chill 

And hath sore need of me. 
Marvel of marvels. Church of God — 

Mother, I come to thee. 

77 



APPREHENSION 

Upon a star in infinite space, alone 

I sit and watch the turning of the hours ; 
About me lies the waste. No summer showers 
Sprinkle the dust with blossoms j sand and stone 

Are the wind's harp, whose music is a moan 
As of some monster soul in doubt who cowers, 
Pale in the shade of heaven's eternal towers, 
Before that One whose strength makes weak his 
own. 

Far, far away, the noisy sea of life 

Tosses and beats, dim as some melody 
Haunting the soul with half-remembered strains. 

Through nightmare distances I watch the strife. 
And dumbly listen for that one dread cry 
That shall fling wide the Gate of Hundred Pains. 



78 



RESIGNATION 

I KNOW that in the crowded town, 
I know that on the pleasant lea, 

I know that on the silver down 
That meets the loud assailing sea, 

Men sorrow, and the hot tears come. 

Oh, aching heart, be dumb, be dumb 1 
Thy woe is but a single leaf 
In the green garland of eternal grief. 



79 



THE GARDENS OF FERRARA 

Oh, prince, my prince, be not so generous ! 
The human heart is weak, it cannot bear 
As much of human kindness as of care ! 

Kill me ! But crush my beaten heart not thus ! 

God ! It was June and love encircled us. 

And June winds whispered in her wondrous hair. 

Her cheeks were flushed ; her throbbing breast, her 
eyes, 

Held all of life and love and paradise ! 

Oh, prince, my prince, I could not bear to go 
From the deep silence of our templed isle. 
Where fields lay soft and glimmered, and the smile 

Of heaven was ours, and breezes murmured low. 

Beneath us sang the sea in ebb and flow, 
And in the cool of shadowed peristyle 

And gardens dark in beauty riotous 

The larks sang all their happiest songs to us. 

Oh, prince, my prince, the summer days are spent — 
The fields are barren and the larks are fled; 
Within the wood the happy leaves lie dead, 

80 



And dead is love and surfeited content. 

Let not your arm hold back its punishment ! 

Mine were your house, your wine-cups and your 
bread, 
Your heart — and in its silver depths, the prize — 
Your sister of the songs and magic eyes. 

Your sister — Prince! What is it that you name 
The love unbounded as the mighty sea ? 
Is it the friendship that you bear to me 
Or I to you bore, ere the bitter shame 
Of treason and of perjured honor came ? 

Is that the love which is so wide and free ? 
I loved — the dark sea closed above my form 
And quenched my soul in cataracts of storm ! 

Ah, prince, my prince, you that are clear and pure 
As the pure sky on perfect summer days. 
That know not doubt's slow torture, nor the ways 
That turn and turn and leave no soul secure, 
How can you know the anguish we endure. 

We common thralls of human fame and praise. 
That love but where love seems to flee from us 
And scorn the love that is too generous ? 

I am a singer, builder I of dreams, 
Born to be tortured and to torture so 
The hearts of them that love me, and would know 

8i 



The soul wherein the singer's beacon gleams. 
Its light is bitterness, its liquid beams 

Leave wells of fire eternal where they flow; 
Its look is grief, its touch is ended faith. 
Its love is sorrow and its kiss is death. 

Into your courts I came. You called me friend, 
Your sister — Ah, well may your brows grow 

dark! 
Your sister loved as I, the field and lark. 
Your sister loved my songs, and without end 
Upon her lute her wondrous head would bend ; 

Then, eyes uplifted, catch from mine the spark 
That burned within the singer and the song. 
And gazing thus, sing thus the whole day long. 

Ah, June was on the world ! God, what is man 
When June's warm, color-bound, luxuriant days 
Spread in a net of columbine, a maze 
Of vistas, and from world to world the span 
Of dreams unbroken is for nymph and Pan ! 

What, then, are God's laws or men's human ways ? 
The larks sang in their covert — who shall blame 
If to our open hearts God's glory came ? 

For love is God's own glory — low or high. 
Though deep the fault and stifling be the sin, 
Still is there place for breath of God within ! 

82 



Still is there something reaching to the sky. 
From out the torn breast and the broken cry. 

That knows that love to glory is akin ! 
That laws are human as the hearts they break. 
And gods that give love cannot love forsake. 

O princely giver of a thousand gifts, 

Let your hand slay me ere I see her face ! 
Beyond death's door perchance a little space 

And June shall come again, and God who sifts 

The music from the silences, and lifts 

Perfection from the dust, may show us grace. 

Fear you to strike ? Let me then grasp the blade ! 

Death shall — she comes ! Nay, I am not afraid ! 



83 



ODE BY THE SEA 

The sea is calm before the low land wind. 

The breakers' loud, imperious voices, stirred 
As for a mighty cause, sink, and behind, 

The black and awful ocean, charactered 
In symbols of white wrath as by a hand. 
Invisible, prophetic, now lies clean 
As a washed slate. In azure and in green 

It laughs to heaven — in purple and in gray — 
While up the long dunes to the peopled land 
Sound, like a love discarded, stalks away; 
Only the trailing echoes of him stay 
In garrulous ripples twittering to the sand. 

Oh, beautiful and unperturbed soul. 

Divine, mysterious ! On thy billows sleeps 
Music, and in the thunder of thy roll 

Tempestuous prophecy, and in thy deeps — 
As in a crypt where dim and silent ghosts 

Walk, and are felt to pass, though never heard 
Nor seen, but only terribly inferred — 
Are all earth's sorrows, pettinesses, pains, 
Laughter and tears and vaunting, childish boasts, 
Muttering in those far and dark domains 
84 



Their secrets, till the listening hurricanes 
Fling them like seaweed up the shaggy coasts. 

Inscrutable epitome of life, 

Living, immortal ! In thy heart is all 
Man ever dreamed, or in his love, at strife 

With law, desired, though earth and heaven fall 
Crashing about him ! Triumph on thy wave 
Marches like Tamburlaine ; war, with the beat 
Of myriad drums and strong, unfaltering feet, 
Cannons and musketry and men's loud cries, 
Thunders reiterate ; from clifF and cave 

Despair with black and inexpressive eyes 
Shrieks, and from ebbing seas that agonize 
On rock-strewn shores, regret and hunger rave. 

I know thy heart. Pain is its sombre lord 

As pain is lord of all who strive on earth. 
A little while joy gleams, as on a sword 

The sunlight laughs, or on thy deep, the mirth 
Of summer zephyrs, 'neath a calm white moon, 
Robes thy dark limbs in jewel-flecked brocade 
An hour as for a merry masquerade. 

How thy low combers laugh in dwarfish glee ! 
The world is malachite and silver ; soon 
Storm, like a pirate looming silently 
Out of the mist, shall take thy gems in fee — 
And where young Rapture sang, old Grief shall croon. 

85 



Grief is thine other self, twin soul and mate ! 
Lone spirit, through thy shadowy palaces 
Wandering like Niobe, intemperate 

Of tears, that are love's last, supreme caress. 
She sings, and in the harsh surf beating high 
Up the brown sands, I hear the wailing dirge. 
Through the long night the melancholy surge 
Of ebbing waters like a dying prayer 
Haunts me, and when the day with laughing eye 
Wakes the dull east, I seek thy strand, and there, 
Bowing her silvery, disheveled hair 
O'er the world's feet, I see Grief, sobbing, lie. 

Great brother of ourselves, in whose veins seethe 

Our passions and our anguish ! Day by day 
I stand upon thy shores. I see thee breathe 
Softly, as when a child grown tired at play 
Sleeps with his toys ; I see thee moan and fret, 
And all humanity, with press and noise 
Of its brief day, with agonies and joys 
Never half comprehended, from the deep 
Rises and tells its glory, its regret. 

Dumbly I watch the pitiless breakers sweep, 
Crashing ashore, the souls that laugh, that weep. 
I hear their voices. I shall not forget. 



86 



SONNET IN CANDLELIGHT 

Now on my shoulder droops thy little head 
Resigned to weariness at last, to sleep. 
Mute are the rebel wailings, calm and deep 

The bosom's gentle motion, comforted 

Of every pain ! How swiftly are they fled 

The day's loud cares ! Above thee now I keep 
The shepherd's watch beside the weary sheep. 

Slumber, dear lamb ! No wolf shall near thy bed ! 

Over thy face I bend, thy little hands. 
And as I gaze, lo, all the mighty schemes 
That reason builds, triumphant over faith. 
Melt as the wave's crest in the sea, a wraith. 
And all man's wisdom is the light that streams 
Glorious, where He who blessed the children stands. 



87 



CONCERNING SONNETS 

A LITTLE sonnet is a dangerous thing ! 

Born of the luring moon, and eyes impearled 
With glance of eyes, that set a soul to sing 

In fourteen lines its secret to the world. 
Love's secrets are but vain when lovers start 

To lay their offerings in the sonnet's mould ; 
And fourteen lines can bare the fullest heart 

Of every woe and rapture it can hold ! 
Yea, sonnet-singing is a treacherous pit. 

For though we cast a treasure down each day 
To fill the chasm, yet no man hath wit 

To close that gap, till death shall show the way. 
A sonnet is a pitfall and a snare — 
Lover and poet, hear it, and beware ! 



88 



SUMMER'S END 

Now is the gray, the grievous season here, 

When from the east, on ponderous ashen wings, 
Storm, with his drab, importunate underHngs, 

Comes like a bailiff to the bankrupt year. 

Now like a prodigal, with mock and jeer 

Driven from his threshold, while the sharp air 

stings 
His Lydian softness, clad in threadbare things, 

Summer to prison totters, fallen and sear. 

Now is the time when to the aching heart 
The ancient griefs, th' eternal questions rise. 
Man comes and goes, the glory in his eyes 

Fades and is quenched ; like brittle leaves depart 
All things that eye can see and hand secure : 
The laws of Life and Change alone endure. 



89 



SONG FROM THE GARDENER'S LODGE 

RHINE VALLEY 

Wee, pretty jewels have I three, 
FroUcking under the chestnut tree. 

Two are my diamonds, one my pearl — 
Those are my boys and this my girl. 

My oldest shall be a sergeant tall 
With a walk and a beard like a general ; 

And an arm for his king and a heart for a wench, 
And an itch in his bones to stick the French, 

My second shall learn the ways of peace, 
Of spreading bloom and field's increase. 

Of spade and hoe and clod and seed. 
Of dropping fruit and clinging weed. 

Little he *11 reck of war or fame — 
But every bud he Ml call by name. 

90 



Oh, and the youngest, oh, my pride, 
'T is she will stay at her mother's side, 

With broom and kettle and rag and pan 
Till the good Lord send her a gardener-man ; 

And a lodge and children two or three 
Frolicking under a chestnut tree. 



91 



SONG OF THE WICKED FRIAR 

Laughing maiden, pretty maiden, 
With your eyes of brown — 

Give me but a single look, 
I '11 wear it as a crown ! 

Give me but a kiss, my lass, 
And touch of hands so fair — 

By faith, I *11 lay me down and die, 
Without a priest or prayer. 

For Heaven is all too cool for love, 
And many good souls, I own. 

Would rather tend the coals in pairs, 
Than play with pearls alone. 



92 



LULLABY 

FOR M. O. H. 

The wind is humming lullabies, 
The birds carol, happy and long, 

The sea has forgot her stormy cries 
And drones an old, old song. 

And it 's all for you, my bud of the Spring ! 

But, oh, when your sleepy lids fall. 
The little white stars in the sky shall sing 

The loveliest song of them all. 



93 



PART IV 



Copyright J igog, as a dramatic composition 
By Hermann Hagedorn 



"Five in the Morning*' was one of four one-act plays presented by 
the Harvard Dramatic Club in Boston and Cambridge on the evenings of 
May 17, 18, and 20, 1909. The cast was as follows : — 

Broughton Mr. Robert M. Middlemas 

Blair Mr. James A. Eccles 

Sprague Mr. Karl I. Bennett 

Gallison Mr, Philip G. Clapp 



FIVE IN THE MORNING 

A DRAMATIC POEM 

PERSONS IN THE PLAT 

Broughton A Writer 

Blair ^ 

Sprague \ Dry-goods Clerks 

Gallison J 



SCENE : Blair s room on the top floor of a cheap board- 
ing-house on West Twelfth Street^ New York, 
The hall-door is on the right ; on the left is an- 
other door leading to an adjoining room. The 
only window is in the centre of the hack wall. 
It is open^ and through it may he dimly seen 
the outlines of roofs and chimneys^ and a church 
steeple not far distant. The first light of dawn 
is in the sky. In the room^ however^ the single 
gas-jet of the chandelier suspended from the ceil- 

97 



ing is still burning. Only the essentials of furni- 
ture are there : a narrow bed to the left of the 
window ^a bureau to the right; a washstand^ of 
cheap wood and water-stained^ against the left 
wall^ forward; and a square kitchen table with 
three chairs a little to the right and forward of 
the centre of the room. A threadbare carpet is on 
the floor. The walls are plastered white with 
many cracks ,* the only pictures on them are a 
stained engraving of St. Michael subduing the 
Dragon that hangs over the bed^ and an etching 
in a soiled white frame over the hall-door. 
The time is four o^ clock of a morning in late 
summer. 

When the scene opens., Broughton is discovered 
in the centre of the stage., back., sitting on the 
floor by the window., gazing out over the city. 
He is about forty., with dark heavy hair and 
beard touched with gray. His face is thought- 
ful and deeply marked^ his figure., when he 
stands upy is seen to be tall and strong. His 
dress is simple and inconspicuous ; his slouch hat 
lies on the floor beside him. He is smoking a 
pipe and blowing rings into the air., absolutely 
oblivious of the noise coming from the table 
where Blair., Sprague., and Gallison are playing 
poker. Blair is the youngest of the four ^ in the 
middle twenties. On his face ^ too., lie the marks 
98 



of struggle^ without the calm of achievement that 
distinguishes Broughton, He wears what are 
known as " business clothes " — a brown sack- 
suit^ turn-over collar^ and brown tie. His 
companions^ on the other hand^ are distinctly 
overdressed.^ wearing collars that are too high., 
waistcoats and cravats that are too gaudy. Their 
appearance is decidedly " sporty,'^ Sprague^s 
face has that smoothness., his eyes that inscruta- 
bility.f which are always suspicious. Gallison is 
Irish .^ with reddish hair and mustache and hu- 
morous eyes. Sprague and Gallison are in their 
shirt sleeves^ about which they wear rubber arm- 
bands. Sprague^ s cuffs are stacked beside him., 
doing office as an ash-tray. All three men are 
smoking heavily. 

As the Curtain rises boisterous laughter is heard. 
Sprague., seated at the right side of the table., is 
laughing convulsively^ pounding the table and 
rocking backward and forward. Gallison., 
opposite him., sits tilted back in his chair., his 
thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat., chuckling 
quietly as he balances himself. Blair., facing 
the audience., is fingering his cards nervously. 
His eyes are fashing with anger ^ his brows drawn 
together^ his lips compressed. 



99 



Sprague 

(^Controlling his mirth ^ sings breathlessly in a 
cracked voice) 

Lucy had a little lamb 
Little lamb, little lamb — 

Gallison 

(In a deep voice^ taking up the song\ 

Lucy had a little lamb 

Whose fleece was white as snow. 

Sprague 
i^After another hurst of hilarity) 
And everywhere that Lucy went — 

Blair 

{T'o Sprague^ with an effort to control his feel- 
ings) 

Well, when you're ready, play the game. 

Gallison 

{^Speaking with a brogue^ a broad grin on his 
face) 

Begad ! 
Don't ye feel squelched at y'ur untimely mirth, 
Old Sprague, me boy ? It 's serious he is. 
A moral man is Blair. 

lOO 



Sprague 

Oh, God, he 's moral ! 
A chorus-girl in tights '11 make him faint — 

Gallison 
Particularly if her name was Lucy. 

Blair 
Well, are you through ? 

Sprague 

He ain't so awful good. 
Now I 've heard say — 

Gallison 
(In mock astonishment) 

Blair ? It 's a libel, sure. 

Sprague 
Now you don't know. These precious innocents - 

Gallison 
Ye don't say, Sprague! So wicked and so young! 

Blair 
{Hotly) 
Now play the game, or quit ! 

lOI 



Gallison 

Come, Sprague, me boy. 
It 's losing that he is. He wants to play. 
They say that girls use up a heap of money — 

Sprague 

(Picking up his cards and exchanging three) 

And he so young. It 's these poor, innocent youths — 

{The clock in the church steeple outside strikes 
four) 

Blair 

(^Flinging his cards on the table and jumping up) 

I 've had enough. 

(He pulls a small roll of bills and some change 
from his trousers pockety and throws them on 
the table. Throughout this scene his attitude 
is bitter and defiant) 

There, that *s not all I 've lost. 
It 's all I 've got, though, and you '11 have to vv^ait 
Until I earn the rest at better business 
Than this. 

Gallison 

(Counting the money and putting it with an 
expression of work-well-done in his pocket) 

Oh, we can wait, me boy — 

102 



Blair 

We, we! 
You 're a fine team to come at dead of ni^ht 

o 

To make me play ofF at a poker game 
The debts I 've tried to pay by honest means. 
Well, you Ve got something out of me, at least. 
Now move ! 

Gallhon 
Sure, if you want. It 's late enough. 

Sprague 
(^Hooking on his cuffs leisurely) 
You have n't told us yet about the girl. 

Blair 
(^Restraining himself with difficulty) 
Get out, Sprague ! 

Broughton 

(Rising from his crouching position by the win- 
dow and knocking the ashes from his pipe) 

Blair, I guess it 's time for me. 
You 're looking tired. You need some sleep. 

Blair 

Just wait. 
103 



Br ought on 
You 'd better sleep. You lost ? 

Blair 

Oh, nothing much. 

Gallison 
Lose at the cards, ye know, ye win at love. 

Blair 

{^Clutching Gallison violently by the collar^ 

Get out, now ! I '11 not promise that I '11 stand 
Much more from you. 

Gallison 

Leave go ! Come, Spraguey boy. 
The bull is mighty wild at mating time. 

(Blairmakes a dart for him^but Gallison throws 
open the door right and escapes. Sprague 
follows^ stopping in the doorway^ 

Sprague 

Broughton, we '11 wait for you. I 've got a story 
That beats the best I 've ever told you yet. 
Gallison split a — 

Broughton 

No, you need n't wait. 
104 



Sprague 
Oh, we don't mind. (^Exit) 

Blair 
God ! How I hate that tribe ! 

Broughton 

I did n't think to find them here. I hoped 
To have an old-time midnight talk with you. 
I 'm sick, Blair. 

Blair 
Sick ? 

Broughton 

At heart. I just returned 
Last night from Maine. Things have gone precious 
wrong — 

Blair 
{With a quick indr awing of the breath^ 
Then you 've found out ? 

Broughton 

Oh, so you know it, too ? 
They kept things quiet, so I scarcely thought 
You 'd heard. She disappeared on Wednesday 

night. — 
Vane thinks she drowned herself. I can't think that. 

105 



Lucy was plucky. But she 's gone. That 's all. 
I 've known her since her cradle days, and now 
Well — now I 've got to find her. 



Vane thinks ? 



Blair 



Broughton 
I can't believe it. 

Blair 



She is dead, 



Was she happy ? 



Broughton 

I do not know. I meant to write to you 
To call on her. You know she liked you, Blair, 
That time I brought you round. I always hoped 
Somehow that you might hit it off together. 
And once I wrote her — 

Blair 
Wrote ? About me, Broughton } 

Broughton 
(^Continuing ^ with a faint smile) 
Giving a lightning sketch of all your virtues. 
I *m not a great success, I fear, as matchmaker, 

1 06 



Blair 
{Nodding^ half bitterly) 
No — no — you 're not a great success. 

Broughton 

You 're tired. 
I 've bothered you too much with my affairs. 
You don't look well. 

Blair 
{Bitterly) 

Would you, if day by day 
You drudged at work you hated ? 

Broughton 

Can't I help you — 

Blair 
Broughton, you can't. 

Broughton 

Why, it 's the first time, then. 
You used to come to me — 

Blair 

I won't come now ! 
No, you 're the last one in the world I 'd come to. 

Broughton 

Blair, that 's unkind. 

107 



Blair 

I can't explain. Please go. 
Don't think too harshly of me when I 've gone. 

Br ought on 
(^Looking up sharply) 
You 're going away ? That 's rather sudden. 

Blair 

Yes. 

I 've struggled in the shadow long enough. 

I 'm going somehow, somewhere, to the sunlight — 

If there is any sunlight. 

Broughton 

(Laying his hand affectionately on Blair's shoul- 
der) 

Boy, head up ! 
Blair 
{Painfully) 
Broughton, don't look at me that way. It hurts. 

Broughton 
When do you go ? 

Blair 
This morning. 
io8 



Broughton 



I suppose 



You don't mind telling where? 



Blair 
(^After a pause) 

IM rather not. 

Broughton 

{Humorously^ hut a trifle uneasily^ nevertheless^ 
You have n't robbed a bank ? 

Blair 

No, there you 're safe. 
But, Broughton, what I might do like a plague 
Torments me night and day. I fear myself, 
Broughton ! Ten years of poisoning drudgery 
Have dulled my senses, wizened up my soul. 
Corroded all that once was bright within me. 
Till I can feel the noose about my throat 
Already, for the crimes I might commit. 

Broughton 

Come, Blair, you 're overworked. Sit down. We '11 
talk. 

Blair 

[Quickly and nervously^ 
No, Broughton, no ! Go now, if you 're my friend. 

109 



It 's you that stirs the devils in me so ! 

I can't explain, I can't ! 

(^Sprague suddenly appears at the door rights 
a cigarette in his mouthy which he does not 
remove as he calls familiarly to Brough- 
ton) 

Sprague 

Coming, old man ? 

Broughton 

{Coldly) 
Don't wait for me, Sprague. 

Sprague 

Oh, I 'II wait all right. 
I guess you '11 want to hear what I 've to tell. 
Something about a friend of yours. 

Blair 

( Under his breath) 

What 's that ? 

Broughton 

All right, I '11 come. 

Blair 

{After a moment^ slowly) 

Broughton, I wish — you 'd stay. 

I lO 



Broughton 
(^Looking at him sharply) 
Good-by, Blair. Bon voyage ! 

Sprague 

So long, old man. 

(They go out. Blair watches the door^ motion- 
less and in silence a while^ misery and fore- 
boding on his face. Then suddenly he turns 
and crosses the stage quickly to the door on 
the left^ where he halts y his hand on the knoh) 

Blair 

(Calling in a low voice) 

Lucy! {A pause) If she can sleep, why stir her now 
God ! If she knew that Broughton had been here ! 

(^His hand falls to his side. He lifts his head^ 
suddenly^ becoming aware for the first time 
of a faint smell of gas in the room. He sniffs 
the air^ then turns to the middle of the room 
where the jet is still burning .^ strikes a match ^ 
and standing on a chair tries to discover the 
leak in the pipe. The match goes out^ he lights 
another y but does not find the leak ; then 
throws both matches in a corner and sinks 
into a chair by the table., pondering) 
III 



What does Sprague know ? — A friend, he said, of 

Broughton's, 
Something about a friend. That 's me — or Lucy — 

(He gives a shorty hitter laugh) 

Or both. If he should know — about it all ! — 

Broughton would come and she would go with him, 

Glad to be rid of one whom in a dream, 

A nightmare, she had loved, but waking soon 

Had gazed upon with eyes unveiled and cold, 

Indifferent. — Indifferent ! The misery 

That lies in that one word : Indifferent ! 

{^A pause) 

And if Sprague knows — all, when will Broughton 

come ? 
God ! Will he come before that clock strikes 

five? 
" At five come to my door,'* she said — " at five. 
No minute earlier. Then you may go 
And take me to the utmost ends of earth 
And I will vow never to hurt you more.'* 

(He sobs suddenly^ then pulling out his watch 
he lays it on the table before him and falls to 
studying it feverishly) 

If I can live till five ! That *s half an hour. 

It might be easy then to live a day. 

And other days. But oh, the drudgery ! — 

I 12 



Two piteous earthworms digging toward the light — 
Scarcely we reached it, crushed beneath Fate's 
heel. 

{^He goes to the window^ snaps up the shade^ and 
looks out) 
The same gray roofs, the same gray leaden sky. 
Pale with the birth of day. That day, we said. 
We will go seek the wilderness together — 
And now she does not love me any more 
Nor ever loved me save in one crazed hour. 

(He looks at his watch again) 

Two minutes gone. But, oh, the years, the years ! 

(He walks restlessly about the room^ stopping 
before the St. Michael hanging over his bed) 

Old boy, you could not root out all the dragons. 
Time's one of them that lives. 

(He goes to the door left again and listens) 

All 's quiet there. 

(^He turns quickly and crosses the stage to the 
bureau^ the top drawer of which he opens,, 
throwing a quick glance over his shoulder as 
he does so. He picks up a revolver and some 
cartridges,, opens the breach,, and examines the 
weapon) 

I wonder — would she mind — even a little ? 

113 



(i/<? loads the pistol slowly. One of the cart- 
ridges sticks and he draws it out again^ ex- 
amines it, and throws it on the bureau. For 
a moment he hesitates, sunk in thought^ 

How empty always seemed the death of those 

Who, all impatient, snatched from time the blade! 

How void of compensation ! for when God, 

The never satiate, takes of Himself 

Man's life, in truth some payment He will give 

For the rude theft, but so, when man is thief 

What can he hope to get, but at the best 

A black, unpeopled, unresounding night ? 

Perhaps I should be born again to toil 

In grayness more profound. The sweat - shop's 

noise. 
The clangor of machines, the piteous wail 
Of women bearing children in the slums 
Of seething capitals, throbs in my ears. 
Guessing perhaps what other births might bring. 
And Lucy might despise me did I die. 
Where now she only does not love, and God ! 
Her hate would burn in me a thousand years. 

(//<? lays the revolver on the bureau and looks 
toward the door at the left, pensively\ 

How strange that she can sleep, when yesterday 
Those eyes of hers so waking and so wild 

114 



Seemed to cry out farewell to sleep forever. 
Broughton ! That after all it should be he ! 
And I was sure, so very, very sure 
That I had won. 

(There is a knock on the door) 

Blair 

(In panic^ thrusting the revolver into the 
drawer) 

Broughton ! He knows, he knows ! 

(Then^ standing with his back against the bu- 
reau^ in a low voice that he tries in vain to 
steady) 

Come in ! 

(^Broughton enters) 

Broughton 
(With forced cheeriness) 
Hello, Blair ! Why, what 's up ? Your face 
Looks like a lost soul's come in sight of Judgment. 

Blair 
That's just — my face. 

Broughton 

You scarce expected me ? 
115 



I hardly thought you would. But you will keep 
Such early hours — 

Blair 
{Dully) 
What do you want of me ? 

Broughton 

(Nonchalantly^ though his eyes are watching 
Blair closely) 

Nothing but my umbrella that I left 
Here if I 'm not mistaken. 

(Blair looks at him without answering^ an ex- 
pression of question on his face ^ as though he 
doubted that reason for Broughton' s return) 

(^Broughton searches the corners for his umbrella^ 
then goes to the bureau. Blair has turned 
toward the window^ where he stands with 
his back to the audience. Broughton suddenly 
discovers the cartridge on the bureau and 
looks up at Blair sharply) 

Blair 

(^Turning suddenly) 

Broughton ! 
ii6 



Broughton 

{^ietly) 

Well ? 
Blair 

The rain came after you were here. You know 
You came with no umbrella. 

Broughton 

{Nodding^ 

You are right. 
Blair 
(T'aken aback by his avowal) 
What do you want of me ? 

Broughton 

(Very seriously^ 

I 'm glad I came. 

Blair 

Broughton, I 'm not ! 

Broughton 

(JVith irony") 

So I should judge. 
This cartridge here — defective, is it ? Yes, 
Bent at the rim, and so no candidate 
For lord high executioner of cowards — 
Tells well enough why you are sorry to see me. 

117 



Blair 
Broughton, not that ! If I were coward, I 
Had sought my pay day with the gods long since. 

Broughton 

And what were then the wage that you had earned ? — 

Flinging your job down at the boss's feet 

With " Take it back ! I '11 none of it ! I want 

A million dollars and an ocean yacht, 

A share in railroads and in politics, 

A son with debts, a daughter who elopes, 

A wife whose charities are manifold. 

Dispensed to friends at terrapin and bridge. 

All this I want, great God. Take back your clerk 

And send me forth a prince or not at all." 

Was that the thought ? 

Blair 
(^Beginning quietly^ but waxing excited as he goes on) 

No, that was not the thought. 
You would not understand. Your soul is blent 
Of other stuffs than mine. You see the world, 
A rolHng cask upon an infinite sea ; 
You pierce its vapors, and your eyes, like stars, 
See all the universe, all — but themselves. 
Men are to you massed as the Milky Way ; 
A hundred million as one sweep of light 

ii8 



Flash on your vision when your lips say : Man. 
But I am one of those whose individual fire 
You cannot see. For monstrous distances 
Your telescope is set. You see an age 
Reflected in the beggar's gaping wound, 
But scarce the beggar's misery and pain. 

(Blair stops and walks up and down the room^ 
halting as before in front of the St. Michael 
hanging over the bed. Broughton^ his bearded 
chin resting on his hand^ is listening very in- 
tently) 

St. Michael here — he was like you. He crushed 
A dragon, and they praise him still, in church. 
But I like old St. Patrick better. Dragons 
Have never plagued me half as much as snakes. 
The little griefs are those that drive us mad. — 
What do you know of human drudgery ? 
The same walk to the subway every day. 
The same gray streets, the biting shriek of the 

cars 
Wheeling about the curve at Union Square, 
The wan, tired faces and the same dun sights j 
And in the trains the heavy air, the crowds 
Like cattle in a pen who graze by day 
To eat and live, no more. You never sold 
Your body and your brain for dollar bills ! 
I did. The price was small. I had to live. 

119 



I was the youngest, everybody's slave. 

What did it matter that I had more brains ? 

The one who gets least pay is dog for all. 

I ran their errands, cleaned their ink-wells for them, 

Did what they ordered even when the clerks, 

The very pettiest, bossed me like a nigger. 

I did n't mind that, but the whole day long 

I had to hear their whispered dirty talk. 

And all the night I heard it in my sleep 

And heard myself, myself repeating it ; 

Till it became like all the rest, a part 

Of drudgery. Is this a human life ? 

Broughton 

{^ietly) 
An hour ago I might have pitied you. 
But you had more than I had ever guessed. 
Is Lucy dead ? 

Blair 

[Startled) 
Lucy ? 

Broughton 

She loved you, Blair ? 
That were enough to make a heaven of hell ! 

Blair 
Loved me, you say ? Broughton, can you think that ? 

I20 



Broughton 

Is it not true ? 

Blair 

The bitterness of that lie 
You of all men should know. 

Broughton 
(Sternly now and insistently) 

Is it not true ? 

Blair 
Why do you ask — that way ? 

Broughton 

[As above) 

Where 's Lucy gone ? 

Blair 

^ (^Drawing in his lips as he breathes heavily) 

Yes, the umbrella story was 2l lie. 

You've come to pump me, come at dawn of 

day 
When you knew well that I had care enough. 

Broughton 

You said that you were going away. I guessed 
Your destination. 

121 



Blair 

Broughton, you were wrong. 
The — pistol — was an impulse. You were wrong. 
I Ve bought — a ticket for Australia, and at five 
I leave — this morning, so it 's just — good-by 
Once more. 

Broughton 

One ticket, Blair ? Just one ? 

Blair 

You thrust 
Your knife in me, and turn and turn it round, 
Cold-blooded, in the wound ! My life is mine 
And I may live it how and where I please. 

Broughton 

There you mistake. Your life is not your own. 
From birth to death your every slightest deed 
Fetters with chains your individual fate 
Forever with the fate of all mankind. 
Sprague there, and Gallison, the pettiest clerk 
Who nauseated you with dirty tales — 
You 're linked to him ; the beggar on the street 
Once you have looked on him is part of you. 
The girl that stared at you from hollow eyes. 
The shivering newsboy and the hungry, wan 
Salvation Army woman with her kettle 
Kept boiling for less hungry ones than she — 

122 



Are yoked beneath the same dark yoke as you 
And harnessed to the same stiff chariot-pole. 
Blair, do you hear ? D' you think that you can go 
To heaven's high hill or the devil's own retreat, 
Heedless of — Lucy — of myself or Vane ? 
You 're bound to us, bound head and heel and heart. 

Blair 
A merry chain-gang are we all ! 

Broughton 

Perhaps. 
Call it a chain-gang or a brotherhood — 
The fact remains — you cannot break the chain. 
So, you 'd escape ? I was in Maine a month. 
When I returned last night — some things — had 

changed. 
I saw old Vane — I 've known him twenty years. 
And yet I scarcely recognized him now — 
Half-crazed and bent with grief, with blood-shot eyes 
And trembling limbs, grown aged in a week. 
Vane always was a tyrant, but his love 
For Lucy made him soft as any woman. 
Her mother died when Lucy was scarce three. 
So he was mother, father — all in one. 

Blair 
{Softly^ painfully) 
I did not know her mother died so young. 

123 



Br ought on 
Vane told me all. 

{Then^ gently laying his hand on Blair s 
shoulder) 

Blair, where is Lucy gone ? 

Blair 
{^ietly^ half defiantly) 
She disappeared on Wednesday night. 

Broughton 

(^Looking steadily^ sorrowfully in Blair's face) 

Come, Blair ! 
You know that that 's no news. Where is she gone ? 

Blair 
Why do you come to me ? 

Broughton 

Late Wednesday night 
You were at Vane's 

Blair 

Who said that ? 

Broughton 

On our way 
Uptown this morning Sprague, with that short laugh 

124 



He always sets as prologue to his tales, 

Told me — what he called a good joke — on you. 

Blair 
You don't trust Sprague ? 

Broughton 

He saw you climb the fence 
Into Vane's yard. The basement door was open. 
There was no light and so he saw no more. 
He did not tell Vane what he saw. It seems 
That there is honor even among thieves 

Of women. 

Blair 

Broughton ! 

Broughton 

It was wrong of Sprague 
Not to tell Vane. No one suspected you. 
Your good name stood up round you like a wall. 
The boys said you were priggish, I M have said 
Merely that you were straight. 

(JVith a faint smile) 

I never thought 
Of you as playing the Lothario. 
I'd sooner feared a tumble for myself. 
You were so bound up in your cotton-goods. 

125 



Blair 

{^Speaking with difficulty^ supporting himself 
against the table^ 

There, that *s just it ! Bound up ! Why, I was 

wrapped 
From head to heel with them. I saw the world 
With eyes dimmed with a blind — of cotton-goods, 
I heard, I spoke it seemed, through triple veils 
Of — cotton-goods, and all the world span round 
The price the world would pay — for cotton-goods. 
You write your books and get your royalties. 
Easy enough if you 've the gift. But who 
Can live our drudge's life and not lose heart ? 
Like schoolboys damned through all eternity 
To figure sums out of a printed book. 
We spend our days with sales we have n't made 
Of goods we 've never even known by sight. 
That's the clerk's life, 

Broughton 

They paid you for your work. 
You chose it of your own free will. No force 
Pressed you into the service. 

Blair 

(Bitterly) 

Oh, they paid me. 
But the Italian digging in the streets 

126 



Gets for his arm more than I for my brain. 
When times were good and millions in and out 
Passed through my books, d' ye think they gave me 

more, 
That I might feel at least akin to them 
Even though remote ? No whit ! And then last fall 
In the great Panic, do you think they 'd felt 
They owed me something for the work of years ? 
They threw me out. I starved. You helped me then. 
When things grew straight they took me in again. 
I starved some more, that I could pay you back. 

Broughton 
I never knew it, Blair. 

Blair 
You never guessed. 
'Twas then that I met Lucy. You remember? 
You took me there, but old Vane hedged her round. 
Sundays we walked out in the Park together — 
Not by appointment — she would not do that — 
But then, I knew the places she loved best. 
Oh, how the long days dragged till Sunday came ! 
Then I found true something you once had said, 
" In life or death love is the saving grace." 

Broughton 

What love, what love ? 

127 



Blair 

Some find it on the street — 
So the clerks said — I never found it there. 
I saw only the painted, hollow cheeks, 
The bold hard eyes. My love was pure — at least 
I thought that it was pure. 

Broughton 

Where is she gone ? 
Where have you taken her ? 

Blair 

She was a drudge 
As I was, working in a shop uptown, 
Working as hard as I. She feared her father 
She would not let me see her at her home. 
But Wednesday night — I came 

Broughton 

Sprague told the truth ? 

Blair 

(JVith a slow affirmative nod) 

You said her father loved her ? On that night 
He beat her till she cried. She 'd lost her job. 
Vane was afraid he 'd have to work himself. 
Little you knew him Broughton. He had thoughts, 

128 



And nice ideas of human charity — 
Vane's charity did not begin at home. 

(^Looking up suddenly) 

Vane had gone out. We scarcely spoke a word, 

Lucy and I. We did n't need much speech. 

She merely pinned her hat on ; and we went 

Silently out into the sultry night. 

One thing she said : " If Broughton were but here. 

Broughton has always helped me.'* 

Broughton 

{TVith compressed lips) 

She said that ? 
I was away. I did not know her trouble. 

Blair 
A hundred things you wise men never know ! 

Broughton 
Where is she now ? She 's here ? 

Blair 

(^Slowly) 

Yes. — Let her sleep. 
The storms will rise about her soon enough. 
But we shall go away. Vane thinks her dead. 
Let him still think it. 

129 



That night ? 



Broughton 
(Thoughtfully) 

And you married her — 

Bla'ir 
(After a long pause) 
We — did not — marry. 

Broughton 

{Clutching Blair by the shoulders) 

Blair ! By God 
I did not know that I could hate you so, 
Or feel the murder itching in my hands 
As now I feel it. Like a kitchen wench 
You took her, like a street-girl, like a slut, 
Like a cigar to smoke and throw away, 
A stump into the gutter ! Were you glad 
And happy in your conquest, did she please 

you ? 
Or are you ready to return her now 
And boast to other girls how you had won her ? 

Blair 
{^Seeking to free himself) 
Let go your hold ! And judge me when you know ! 
We wanted life — life at its richest, best. 
And most untrammeled, life in red and gold, 

130 



In fire and splendor, life at burning noon — 
Even if we died for it. A suicide 
Of opium-eaters dreaming glowing dreams 
Before the end — perhaps 't was that. We sent 
The twilight fugitive and knew the sun, 
The burning, mortal sun — that was enough. 
Men die for want of light — we two were glad 
To die achieving it, and welcome death. 
We drudges have our yearnings, even we. 
For something from a better world than ours. 
Priests call it God, you wise men call it Beauty. 
I do not know. We cried for something big. 
Rising titanic, unresigned, unbowed, 
Out of a world of crawling pettiness — 
Sin ! If you will. Triumph it was to us 
And liberty from man — and God ! 

Br ought on 

(With hands behind his back has walked in 

an attitude of the deepest misery toward the 

window^ where he turns and speaks^ smiling 

wanly ^ bitterly^ 

Sin? Blair, 

Was that the beauty that you sought, was that 

The paint to tinge the drudgery, the grayness ? 

(He goes to the window^ 

Look at the city, at the empty streets 

So shiny with the rain, the misty lights 



Like captured fireflies — Blair, what do you see ? 

Beauty ? It 's there. You call it ugliness. 

You, too, are right, for over all, you see 

A sickly shadow, drooping like the night 

Over a plague-touched town, full of mad forms — 

Because men deem relief from drudgery 

Waits on the rolling Juggernaut of sin. 

Look at the houses, wretched, dark, unclean. 

Sombre with misery and discontent. 

Why, why ? You know it in your heart ! 

It 's this mad striving after phantom lights 

That seem to promise refuge on the marsh. 

But lure us all the deeper into quicksands. 

Beauty too tangible is cheap and vain 

And liberty from God and man is bondage. 

Blair 

A phrase ! A pretty phrase ! Fit for a man 
Who thinks in terms of stars and never sees 
The single aching heart. Perhaps in dreams 
Your world is true, in life it 's one for one. 
And only we who dare to mock your laws 
Can from the dust-heap pick our gem — and live. 

Broughton 

{Painfully) 
The dust-heap ? Did you mean that, Blair ? Did she — 
Know she was groping — in a heap — of dirt ? 

132 



Blair 

(^Agonixed) 

Broughton ! You turn things so. God knows I tried 
To make her happy. 

Broughton 

Blair, had I but known 
How drudgery was eating at her heart ! 



You did not know. 



Blair 
{^Ironically) 



Broughton 

She had a happy strain. 
She sang to me, and seemed so light of heart — 
How should I guess ? 

Blair 
{To himself bitterly) 

To me she never sang. — 

Broughton 
Had I guessed ! 

{^Suddenly grasping Blair's arm and looking him 
full in the face) 

Blair, what do you know of love ? 

133 



Blair 

{^Slowlyy as he realizes the whole meaning of 
Broughton^s words) 

You — love — her ? — Broughton, it 's not true ! 

Broughton 

(^Simply) 

Not true ? 
Why should I now deny it ? She has chosen 
After her will. I long gave up my right 
To gain love for myself. I 'm growing old. 
Forty is old — for some men. And l*m gray. 
She could not love me. 



Makes me a coward. 



Blair 
Broughton, stop ! Your voice 



Broughton 

Love her, love her, Blair! 
Love her a thousand times, and love her more ! 
It 's not the love we get that makes our hea- 
ven. 
The love we steal chasing with hungry heart 
The fruits of love. It 's what we dumbly give 
That builds a world, 
A shimmer as of sunrise on the streets. 
An aureole as a saint's about men's heads. 

134 



It 's love, that flows from one to the wide world — 
A poor, dumb world, too feeble to respond. 

Blair 
Love for a world, love for a world ! Blind talk ! 
You sat up on your pinnacle of dreams 
And never saw us ! 

Broughton 

Blair, enough of this. 
We cannot heal the past. The future holds 
Its own pure, rounded life if we but claim it. 
Come, call her, Blair. When she was small, she loved 
To go to me and let me soothe her pains. 
It may be I can ease them even now. 

Blair 
{Bitterly) 

So I must call her, let you dry the tears 

That I have caused to flow ? That were true justice 

On me, but God ! I '11 not yet give her up ! 

Broughton 
There is no thought of that. 

Blair 

So you may say. 
But she is mine, she's all I ever had. 
She 's mother, father, money, health, and fame, 

135 



All that I longed to be and never was, 

Bound all in one. Even though she hate me still 

There's always hope that some day she may love. 

Broughton 

Hate you ? 

Blair 

You never knew the best of life, 
So you '11 scarce miss it, not, at least, as I 
Who knew it for an hour — or for a day. 
Go, Broughton, you 've been good to me. Don't 

change 
The good to ashes now. For your own peace, 
Broughton, go now, and let us find our way — 
Lucy and I — alone. For your own peace ! — 

Broughton 
For my own peace ? Why do you speak of me ? 

Blair 
It 's nothing. Only go ! 

Broughton 

No ! Blair, you spoke 
Of hate. 

Blair 

Mere words. Broughton, it 's our own lives 
We have to live. Don't snare your better fate 

136 



With ours. There 's only sorrow as reward — 
Sorrow for — Lucy — and for you and me. 

BroughtoH 

I '11 know it ! 

Blair 

No. 

Broughton 
(^Coming close to Blair ^ with unwavering per- 
sistence) 

I '11 take the fate that comes. 
My mill is strong. 'T will grind it. 

Blair 

Are you sure ? 
Broughton 
The rack is worse than hanging. Tell it, Blair. 

Blair 
Last night we quarreled. 

Broughton 

You and Lucy ? Blair ! 

Blair 

'T was scarce a quarrel. But a curtain fell 
Thick as a storm between us. 'T was my fault. 
I thought that she had loved me. — I was wrong. 

137 



Broughton 
My God, Blair, and she told you that ? 

Blair 

Still more. 
Her love for me was as a rocket*s flare — 
A burst of stars — the stick falls in the lake — 
So lustreless and common once *t is quenched. 

Broughton 
That was not Lucy ! 

Blair 

No, it was a drudge 
Burdened with loneliness, mad with regret. 

Broughton 
Lucy ? 

Blair 

She loved — another, and the love 
Burnt like a flame unnoticed, burnt and grew 
Into consuming fire. You never guessed — 

Broughton 
(^Mechanically) 

I — never — guessed. 

Blair 
The man she loved — 

138 



Broughton 

Don't say it, Blair ! My God ! 

Blair 
The man she loved — 

Broughton 

(^Grasping Blair ^ who has turned toward the 
door at the left^ roughly by the shoulders) 

Say it ! 

Blair 

Was you ! 
Broughton 

Blair— -Blair! 
Blair 
(His hand on the door-knob) 
Now are you satisfied, now you have all ? 

(Blair throws open the door and leaps back^ 
overcome by the fumes of ^as that stream 
from the inner room. Broughton gives a cry) 

Broughton 
The gas, the gas ! 

(^He darts to the door^ but Blair pushes him 
roughly aside and enters. His cry of horror 
is heard^ followed by the sound of breaking 
glass as he smashes the windows. A second 

139 



later he stumbles out of the room^ strangling^ 
and falls into the arms of Broughton^ who 
draws him to the open window) 

Blair 

(^Gasping ^ and clutching Broughton's arms) 

Dead, Broughton, dead ! Her face 
Swollen and livid. Dead for hours — dead — dead — 

Broughton 
(In agony ^ trying to free himself) 
Blair — let me go — to her. 

Blair 

(Choking) 

No — she is mine. 

{H.e rises slowly and moves toward the door 
again^ clasping Broughton* s hand with the 
pressure of complete understanding) 

Broughton, the saving grace, the saving grace. 

(He goes unsteadily to the door^ halts at the 
threshold an instant^ with a tightening of the 
muscles^ then passes out. Broughton^ standing 
with his back to the window^ follows him 
with his eyes in which there gleams a look 
of hopeless agony. Outside,^ the clock in the 
church steeple slowly and sonorously strikes 
140 



five. A single ray of sunlight falls through 
the window on the left wall. Broughton 
draws himself together^ his strength and his 
faith seem to come back to him). 

Blair 

(^Reappears at door left., gasping for breath. 
He points with a faint smile at the patch of 
sunlight on the floor) 
The sunlight ! 

Broughton 

(^Mechanically going forward and turning out 
the gas still burning from the jet over the 
table) 

Yes, it 's day now. 
CURTAIN 



CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
U . S . A 



saav 6 ^^^ 



/COPY, OB.. TO CAT, OIV. 

v\n\t /£♦ 



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015 898 552 4 



